Fate Dragoncrown (eng)
by celian Cogitore
Summary: When the Copper Tower shakes and the time is reworked... The war that created Hight Rock may well take an unexpected turn if Fuyuki's Grail wish interferes.
1. Chapter 1

**Note : 02/04/20 grammar correction**

**Warning: Fate Stay Night is the property of Type Moon and the saga The Elders Scrolls is that of Bethesda Softworks.**

**I'm just an amateur who write this Fan-fic on my own free time. This is not a professional or paid work but, the work of a fan made available to other fans.**

**When I wrote Fate/ The last Dragonborn my first fan-fiction, already a crossover between Fate and TES, I thought I had found a great idea... except that I wrote only in French and made many mistakes (writing, layout spelling... and history). After re-reading, I no longer consider this first work very viable. Each chapter has only about ten readers. So I decided to start over... with a slightly different idea.**

**Fate/ Dragoncrown (eng) is the English translation of Fate/ Dragoncrown (fr) the original in French. It's mostly a mechanical translation by a... err... dwemer steam computer and it don't know the difference between male, female and things. **

**Prequel**

Fuyuki, February 2004

The night ended on the town of Fuyuki. However, the darkness remained deep in the deserted and silent streets. The inhabitants - by reflex, by habit - did not leave their houses at nightfall. Once the sunlight had dissipated, the modern Japanese city seemed to attract evil. An entire family killed with a knife, perhaps a spear or a sword... in the twenty-first century; repetitive accidents; gas leak or explosion; haunted houses... Fuyuki seemed to belong to another world when daylight no longer illuminated his sidewalks.

In particular, that night.

If anyone had looked up at Mount Enzou, he would have witnessed a strange conflict of winds with striking lights. First, a darkest reddish glow, awakening of the Ryuudou Temple, then a powerful golden flame that ran into a red and sinister hurricane, swirling around the ridge of its roofs, ripping out beams, breaking walls, raining tiles around.

The last clash of the Fifth Grail War reached its peak...

* * *

In the ruins of the Temple of Ryuudou stood two individuals who no one would have thought were normal peoples. Their weapons, even their attitude, separated them too easily from ordinary men.

The greatest laughed in a dismal, demented way. He was a blond man, very handsome, despite his red eyes with vertical pupils. He was clothed with an impossible armor of gold, so heavy and so precious that no mortal could have worn it... but it was not - by far - the only impossibility in this striking character. What mortal could touch the object he was holding in his right gauntlet?

This cylindrical... "sword" consisted of three separates parts that rotated in different directions. From it came a divine power, with destructive and creative faith, a truly ultimate power.  
\- **Enuma Elish**!

Calling for the power of this weapon older than Earth, the demigod released a purple wind that broke into a whirlwind centered on his opponent. Around them the walls broke, the ground convulsed, cracks opened in the slabs of the esplanade.

\- **Ex**... **calibur**!

A wave of golden light met the scarlet tornado and the two energies clashed in formidable arcs of power.

Excalibur... the legendary sword of King Arthur expelled this pure clarity of gold. The blade, of simple appearance, made of steel, extended a guard in crescent melted in gold and inlaid with blue enamels. A sword as beautiful and glorious as everyone imagined.

The surprise came from the one who held it, a young woman... No, not even ... a teenage girl. Her beauty is breath taking. Her hair was thin, capped in a mat that she wrapped in the back of the head, held in place by a blue ribbon. The face was thin, oval, the mouth small, and the eyes immense, emerald in color.

Her little figure wrapped herself in a blue dress that she wore over white petticoats. Nevertheless, she was kicked of steel, her hands - squeezing Excalibur- disappeared under thick gauntlets. A plastron decorated with blue drawings protected her chest while a strange skirt of articulated metal blades was born in her belt to descend on her flanks.

How could a young girl wear Excalibur! Who would have been worthy? No, we had to reject the impossible and admit the truth as improbable as it is. That frail teenage girl was the real King Arthur... the legend was lying!

For a moment, the two mythological heroes seemed equal...

Just for a moment...

Whatever the girl's courage and will, she opposed a divine power.

The flood of **Enuma Elish** suddenly seemed to swell, repelling the golden light from **Excalibur**. Thrown back, the King of the Knights bounces for more than ten meters before collapsing, steaming, at the end of a long furrow of earth as dug by a plough.

Despite the pain and gasping breath, the little girl turned to her executioner who looked at his victim with a disturbing smile.

The monster was playing.

He was totally dominating the fight.

He could end it in an instant, but he didn't seek to kill... he wanted to dominate, break, belittle, defile... He waited for the woman in armor to bow down, to join the collection of his toys.

Nevertheless, despite the pain, despite the monster's superiority and the humiliation of her easy defeat, the King of the Knights gave him a look of pure anger.

He had never known defeat. His arrogance was based on the boredom of possessing everything, the certainty of the immutability of this rule.

The woman's life had been but a long series of trials, of sorrows, of battles that had solved nothing. However, the Knight had never given in.

Painfully, leaning on her great sword, she managed to stand up. Her gaze turned to that of her enemy, without weakness...

The red, scornful eyes hardened as all expression of joy disappeared. "Were she challenging him? Him? The KING?" He could tolerate a little resistance from his toys. But even his favorite toy had to know its place... If that woman dared to look at him any longer, he'd kill her!

The Golden King always ended up breaking his toys. He got tired so fast...

As he waved his cylindrical sword, she had a movement of surprise and then raised a hesitant hand, tending it towards something that she alone was to see.

\- **Enuma Elish**!

The scarlet hurricane hit the King of the Knights. This time it was a deadly blow, the game was over.

\- You were... my sheath, weren't you?" Murmured the clear voice of the little blonde. "Utopia that lives in my dreams. It's name? Avalon."

There was then as the birth of a star on the battlefield. **Avalon**, the sheath of Excalibur, had just appeared, surrounding its rightful owner with a cocoon of energy resistant to all magic.

The red wind whirlwind rushed... but she repelled it with a careless movement of her sword, sending the destructive power back to the Golden King who quivered with pain and especially surprise. He has used his most favored weapon, **Ea**, the Sword of Separation, surpassing all other weapons. Was not the sword who served the Sumerian gods to separate Earth from Heaven in the beginning of time?

What was happening was impossible.

Leaving behind her armor, which dissipated into silver particles, the King of the Knights rushed in haste, recovering the energy saved to strengthen her blade.

\- Cursed self! Resist me in the same way?!

His enemy was again calling for his power!

\- **Enuma**...

Before the Golden King could finish, she struck.

\- **Excalibur**!

Radiant with golden light, the King of Brittany's blade cut off the gold armor, the flesh, causing blood to flow... The Sacred Sword sank to the hip, just missing to cut in two the seed of the gods of Sumer.

Although already dead, the Golden King remained standing. His face which had shown pain and hatred was now peaceful, sweet, smiling:

\- Avalon, the utopia in which the king will enter after his death. Untouchable by the Five Magies... The ultimate protection that nothing can pierce... It's your true Noble Phantasm. It's the power of the legendary Holy Sword, isn't it?

He reached out in a gentle gesture like a caress, straightening the lowered face of the young woman so that he could look at her one last time:

\- What an abominable woman you are... defying me to the end? But I would allow it. Some things are beautiful because no one can own them. So goodbye, King of Knights. Hey... I had a lot of fun...

As he uttered these words, he began to unravel into golden particles, gradually becoming translucent. Soon it dissipated in the wind...

Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, king of the heroes, the first and most powerful of them had ceased to exist.

* * *

Artoria Pendragon serving as class Saber was the real person behind the legend of King Arthur. Daughter of Uther Pendragon, King of Brittany, she had been raised as a man before taking over from her father.

With the exception of a few details about her gender, the rest of her story was well known.

However, she had died without succeeding in saving the island of Brittany which was submerged by the invasion of the Saxons. On the battlefield of Camlann, before the remains of her son Mordred, Artoria wept, imploring the Holy Grail to save Brittany island.

And the Holy Grail replied...

He offered her a place in the Fuyuki Grail War, a conflict that recurs (on average) every sixty years, opposing between them seven Magi called Masters, through Servants, heroes temporarily recalled to life by the Holy Grail. The latter were invoked in magical "containers", say "mussels", which facilitated their call. These seven forms were **Saber**, **Lancer**, **Archer**, **Rider**, **Berserker**, **Caster** and **Assassin**. One could not make a more explicit name; Saber was the Servant handling the sword and so on. Since the identities of the heroes were to remain secret, during the Grail War they were called only by their class names. These Servants should confront each other until one remains.

The victorious Servant and his Master would then each receive a wish, offered by the Holy Grail.

Called as Saber during the Fourth and Fifth Wars, Artoria had therefore been reduced to the sole powers of her Excalibur sword, unable to use her Rhongomyniad spear, which limited her somewhat. Invoked for the first time by Emiya Kiritsugu, a detestable mage killer devoid of any loyalty... she was then invoked by his adopted son, Emiya Shiro.

The latter had begun by... making her lose his calm.

Usually, the very image of self-control, Saber found herself with an inexperienced Master. The thing was tolerable; one cannot ask anyone who is not prepared to a trial to excel on it.

However Shiro was... eager to protect her! For this, he lied to her, and escaped her surveillance to try to win the war alone!

The knight's first reaction was anger. Saber felt belittled by such treatment.

However... gradually, she had discovered a young man as there was no other. Faithful, loving, courageous, good man, devoted...

For the first time in her life, someone had sought to fight for her, as if she were a damsel in distress and her Master was a gallant knight. It was ridiculous, because Saber was a much better fighter than Shiro would ever be. Nevertheless, she understood it as touching attention... ridiculous care for her... but touching, nonetheless.

Saber had... become attached.

A Master provided the magical energy - the _prana_\- that allowed a Hero to incarnate as a Servant. Since Shiro was not a real Magus, an authentic _Magecraft_ practitioner, just a teenage boy with a few skills, Saber found herself very weak with him as a partner.

However, together they had won battles against powerful opponents: Rider (the legendary Medusa), Berserker (the Greek hero Heracles) and finally... Gilgamesh, the Archer of the previous Grail War, has managed to keep himself alive since that time.

In a strange way, which had nothing to do with the normal connection between a Master and a Servant, Shiro had given her strength.

In only twelve days, Artoria had discovered feelings that neither King Arthur on his throne nor Servant Saber had ever experienced. The monarch at the head of the armies had been respected. The familiar summoned by a Magus had mingled with ordinary life. However, for the first time she felt truly loved and loved in return. With his spontaneous kindness, his catastrophic lack of thought, his suicidal desire to help, Shiro was the most real person she ever met.  
Saber had fallen in love.

Somewhere, it was the man she had always waited for without even realizing to wait for him.

This was a strange turn of fate.

After all, before returning it to her, Shirou had long carried in him **Avalon**, the sheath of **Excalibur**, her most powerful weapon. The Noble Phantasm which was the materialization of her legend. It was an object created by the fairies that healed the wounds of its bearer and protected him from any magical attack when its name was invoked.

Stolen by Mordred, before the battle of Camlann, found by Kiritsugu Emiya, the latter had then hidden it inside his adopted son to save him from an injury that Shiro received during the last battle of the previous Grail War... already, at the time, a fight between Gilgamesh and her.

A Noble Phantasm was not meant to remain in the body of an ordinary human. For example, **Avalon** embodied Arthurian utopia, chivalrous and selfless. That had changed Shiro. His nature... twisted... his desire to put others before him, to protect them at the risk of his life, his exaggerated altruism, were the result.

In fact, Saber had (very ironically) created the man who embodied her ideals... in an outraged form, it is true. Shiro had at first exasperated her, furious before, finally, she decided to fall in love.

* * *

Around the central temple building, Saber discovered the lake. Above, a breach sparkled... a circular black hole, surrounded by a ring of red light that illuminated the night. Through this tear flowed a dark and disgusting mud... materializing all the sins of humanity.

During the War, Saber and Shiro had discovered that the Holy Grail was corrupted by a presence which the Master of Gilgamesh, the priest Kotomine Kirei, called Angra Mainyu... ancient divinity whose name meant "All the Evil of the World".

He wanted to use the Holy Grail as an incubator to return to life and bring about the apocalypse.  
Approaching, Saber smiled at her Master.

The young man with red hair and amber eyes was wearing a torn and burned sweatshirt and jeans in such poor condition. Yet he was not really hurt. He too had won his battle. He was standing beside Kirei's floating corpse.

\- Saber, comes on!

With his finger he showed the body suspended between earth and sky of Ilyasviel von Einzbern. Berserker's Master had lived with them at Shiro's since the death of her Servant. But the day before, Kirei broke into their home, hurting their friend Tohsaka Rin to kidnap Illya. She was offered as a sacrifice to Angra Mainyu. As there was only one Servant left, the conditions for the victory of the War had been fulfilled.

The appearance of the Grail was therefore imminent. Angra Mainyu would arrive with it. Whatever wish was announced, the infected Grail interpreted it in such a way as to bring "All the Evil of the World" back to life.

\- What is going on?

Shiro panicked. His hands hit the glowing air that separated him from Illya. A tremor traversed a sphere of energy surrounding the little girl, making it briefly visible.

\- She is surrounded by a_ Boundary Field_. If the barrier is not broken, she will continue to feed the Holy Grail... and will die!

Saber blushed and rushed up Excalibur. However, the first ray of sunlight bursts out and... the sudden clarity dazzles the two young people.

* * *

\- Good morning, _Oniisan_.

Emiya Shiro blinked, surprised to find herself in the majestic castle of the Einsberns. Then he faced the little girl with red eyes and white hair. Smiling and adorable, she wore a white skirt and a purple top.

\- Illya?

The young Japanese felt pulled back and fell two steps further. He looked up to see Saber, Excalibur in hand. She looked deadly serious.

\- But that...

\- Shiro, what is your last memory?

He frowned at her.

\- Oh... Ryuudou... the fight against Kirei and... but...

\- It's not Illya!

Shiro stared at the little girl with the false airs of albinos. Leaning to the side, she continued to smile. Nevertheless, he became aware of the presence of a pool of black mud at her feet and of splashes at the bottom of her dress. The same mud that muted from the opening leading into the Grail...  
Saber hesitated against her will. Her instincts yelled at her that she was standing in front of a monstrous being but... it was difficult for her to attack in cold blood an adorable little girl who did not make any aggressive gestures.

As Saber crossed the look of the pseudo-Illya, the latter changed expression and - for a moment- the knight shiver.

\- In fact, I am and am not Illyasviel von Einzbern. I have the power to slip into the "shell" of another. So I'm Illya and I'm... call me Avenger or Angra, whatever you want.

\- Angra Mainyu?! All the Evil of the World?!

Illya's smile was accentuated:

\- So yes and no. To tell my story quickly, I was invoked during the Third Holy Grail as Avenger.

Saber and Shiro looked at each other:

\- There is no Avenger class!

\- No... I'm the only one (1). Because the Einzbern cheated to summon me. " Oh, we are sure to win if we invoke the Devil himself". Except they got... Angra Mainyu. I was an ordinary teenager until one day a bunch of religious bigots had the wondrous idea to make me the focus of all the sin in the world. Think about it... so that others would no longer receive sins and they could live in paradise back on Earth. You could think as a little sacrifice for the happiness off all. No, it doesn't work that way. I've been cooking for a few thousand years in all the crimes of humanity. That doesn't make me a saint, but neither does the Devil. I am the weakest of all Servants ever summoned in a Grail War. This is the unspeakable danger we warned you against!

Saber lowered his blade slightly:

\- And what do you want?

\- Out. I have been trapped inside the Holy Grail since I was killed in the Third Grail War seventy years ago. You have no idea... it's horrible to be here.

Once again, Master and Servant exchanged glances. This time, it was Shiro who spoke with a little mistrust in his voice:

\- And what does it take for you to get out?

\- Make a wish and you are entitled to one each.

Excalibur turned to the throat of Angra again:

\- What proof do we have that you are not setting us up?

\- You can make any wish. I am obliged by the rules of the Grail War to comply. If you're asking me for a banana split, I'd have to give you a banana split. I can't trick anyone if the application doesn't have two interpretations. Anyway, you have to do it... if you don't do it for me, do it for yourself or for the rest of humanity.

\- What do you mean?

\- Well, first of all, you are in the Holy Grail. And inside... I am the Big Boss. So you can do nothing against me, and especially not leave. And I'll let you go in exchange for what? A wish!

Now, did you believe that the Holy Grail still works as its creators wanted it to?

\- What do you mean, asked Shiro.

\- Well, the previous four wars didn't have a winner. Do you know why there were only ten years between this one and the one before? The Grail looks like a boiling pot. It was never designed to contain five times the energy required for its normal use. Now add my presence or that of Gilgamesh, we are some serious anomalies. In other words, the Grail is unstable and overloaded. He's gonna end up "boom," unless its drained of its energy and how?

Shiro sighed:

\- By making a wish?

Taking one of the most adorable mimics of Illya, Avenger jumped of contentment on the spot :

\- Won. But you must make a wish big enough for the Grail to empty itself of all its energy.

Saber found herself in the grip of doubts and sudden tension. Even though she had renounced to save Brittany for fear of causing a catastrophe, Angra Mainyu told her that she had nothing to fear. But could she trust him?

\- Can I learn more about wishes? Are there limits?

Angra nodded with the charming look of Illya lecturing:

\- Yes, of course. From a human point of view, the Grail is immensely powerful. It can bring the dead back to life, manipulate time, allow us to reach other worlds, create anything. Nevertheless, it has the limits of everything that was created by men... and the Fuyuki Grail is nothing but a human Magi construct. Thus, the Grail is not able to create something that men are not able to imagine. More powerful entities, such as _Gaia_ (the Will of the World) or _Alaya_ (the Will of Humanity) would also forbid it certain actions. And I think I know what you'd like to ask... You can't do a time paradox. Because this is exactly the kind of thing that triggers the arrival of _Alaya_'s counterforce. In theory, I can put your mind back into your body shell... for example, the day you pulled the Sword into the Stone. Except that as soon as you start changing the story, the _Alaya Dogs_ would appear to make it run smoothly.

A painful expression occurred on Saber's face:

\- You're right, Shiro, I can't change the past... maybe I was destined to fail.

While the young Japanese took his friend in his arms, without a word, Angra shrugged his shoulders:

\- But you can still use your wish to have a future. If you can no longer save Britain, you can save another country. As for you, Shiro, you can save the people who died recently. Your friend Matou Shinji, for example, because it would not change the course of history.

Saber's mistrust had returned. In spite of the explanations and judicious advice, Angra Mainyu lacked subtlety in pushing the two winners to make a heavy wish accordingly. It was obvious that he would not just do something trivial. As she remarked in a low voice, leaning over Shiro, Avenger replied:

\- You have forgotten what I said about the Grail being overloaded by the _prana_ of all the Servants killed during the five Grail wars. Only two huge demands will free up enough energy. Don't worry about the words you use for the wording. The Grail listens to intent.

The two youths were still hesitant. But they had understood that they would never leave the Grail without making a wish. And the left saturated with _prana_ and unstable could be as dangerous as asking for anything.

Saber leaned on her sword.

\- Okay. I want another chance. I want a new life near Shiro, an opportunity to save a country in conformity with the values of chivalry that I defended.

Angra Mainyu turned to the Japanese:

\- What about the Master's wish?

\- I want a new life for the victims of the Grail War, so that I can protect those I could not save.  
Angra stared at the duo formed by the Master and the Servant and then burst out with a crackling laugh. The sound was so unpleasant and evil that they immediately understood that they had been played. Still under the guise of Illya, the monster stared at them as the places lost their resemblance to Eizbern castle and the walls flowed in the form of black mud:

\- Shiro, you forgot what Kirei said when you first met her. Wanting to be a superhero is wishing there was someone in danger. So rejoice, Emiya Shiro, rejoice, Artoria Pendragon, for your next life will make you the only bulwark between an entire world of innocent people and the horrible fate you have brought upon them.

The monster laughed again and the scene burst into a billion fragments.

* * *

(1) He is the first Avanger and has not yet met the others.


	2. Chapter 2 Tender Years

**Note : somes minors correction 02/04/20**

**Already the second chapter, you will have some French medieval terms in the text. **_**Champart**_** and **_**cens**_** are two seigniorial taxes. The first is a levy in kind on the production of lord's land cultivated by sharecroppers. The **_**cens**_**, on the other hand, is a tax paid in currency by all the peasants, every month. The grant is a toll which corresponds to a kind of customs installed at the entrance of the cities. It is paid by the merchants.**

_**Vilain**_** is in old French the term that corresponds to "villager". It took in French and especially in English (villain) the sense of bad man, because... noblemen despised the peasants.**

_**Manant**_** is another ancient French term for "villager" by opposition of men of "superior" extraction.**

* * *

**Tender Years**

North of the Kingdom of Menevia, Wrothgar Mountains, High-Rock Imperial Province, Tamriel.

The summer of 402 of the Third Era of Akatosh was well under way. With the tillage finished, the common people had abandoned the plow for the false haying. In the shade of the grey and stocky silhouette of the castle of Tournelle, one could see the peasants getting busy.  
As the heat helped, the _vilains_ had taken off their blouses and worked with their bare chests while mowing the hay. Women helped them in their task. The sickle in hand, they finished the work where the scythe could not pass. Despite the hard-hitting sun, they remained very dressed. Out of decency, they simply lifted their skirts and went about their business surrounded by the frou-frou of their white skirts.

Tournelle was a strategic position, located in a strong and defensible place. Close to the mountains, the castle adjoined the main road of Stormhaven which crossed the plain of Menevia. Nearby, passed other axes serving Alcaire, the Gastemarch and the Gavaudon as well as many paths that radiated towards all the good cities of King Eadwyre.

More than a century had passed since a king's predecessor had ceded the castle to the Meaumont family. And, again, Tournelle had just changed hands. A marriage had made it the property of de La Roche.

Lord well seen in the entourage of the king of Menevia, de La Roche had brought with him strong foreign uses to the inhabitants of the country. Like the great lords, he had surrounded himself with a court of local importance with extravagant and often questionable customs. This declining aristocracy no longer shone in the arts of war. Too poor to participate in the tournaments, she had turned entirely towards a way of life of festivals, songs and amusements. Apart from extorting new _champarts_, _cens_, or _grants_ to the peasants, their only concerns were esoteric. No Menevia Grand made a decision without the advice of his astrologer; even the little lords followed the fashion of the times.

The magus of the Lord of La Roche came from far away. Jo Za'urabi was a cabbalist Khajiit, this catman had fled the distant Elsweyr to find a powerful protector in Menevia. For the most part, his role was to make the astral theme of the residents of the castle. He also taught the children of the castle. This suited the old Khajiit who had long since given up the fame and worries of a more interesting life.

Jo Za'urabi looked at the armillary sphere placed on his desk, amidst the many books and parchment sheets that were cluttering him. The metallic globe represented the present position of the constellations...  
_Today will see the birth of a great king while a great king falls._

The "great kings" do not become great by building roads. They do not "fall" in times of peace... Jo Za'urabi shook her head with a restless look, folding her big feline eyes.  
\- Oh, Akatosh, Dibella, Stendarr, Talos, Khynareth, gods of Nirn, what new trial are you preparing for us?

* * *

Alain Draconis was a colossus, broad shoulder and powerful. He wore the armor of the guards of the castle, without the helmet, discovering a face chiseled and jovial. One hand on the pommel of his broadsword, he took hundred steps in front of a small house housed in a secondary yard of the castle. Although of low extraction, Alain had for two years directed the feudal sergeants who formed the garrison of the castle, under the orders of the seneschal directing the military household of the lord of La Roche.

One could say that for a non-noble, he had arrived as high as he could. Yet, at that moment, the courage with which he had fought the goblins coming out of their caves at nightfall, the anthropophagical trolls and especially the orcs coming from the mountains, seemed completely forgotten.

Isn't it said that a man endures the pain of childbirth as much as his wife?  
As Éveline Draconnis - his wife - shouted inside the little house, Alain stopped worried. Somewhat stifled by the wall of wooden panels, the voice of the midwife reached the husband: "Push! I see the head. The baby is well positioned".

Alain began to walk back and forth, even more vividly. His hands were tense.  
From the inside came strange noises... like pushing furniture. The midwife was busy giving orders to her helpers: "I said hot water, not lukewarm!" "Laissa, let her man in".

Understanding that this was in fact addressed to him, Alain approached the door and crossed it as soon as the so-called Laissa pushed the door away.

His first look was for his wife. Éveline had drawn and sweaty features... What would be surprising? Wasn't it said that giving birth was as painful as getting all the bones of the body broken with a hammer?

As Alain took his wife's hand and exchanged a few tender words with his young wife, Josiane, the midwife, finished bathing their first born... and worried. The baby had not cried when he was born and, immersed in the water, he still did not scream. However, his gaze was... surprisingly attentive. In fact, she had never seen a newborn child who had just come out of her mother's womb so awake. Was the child mute? Josiane slapped the baby's butt dry.

The unintelligible babble that came out of the baby's mouth meant nothing, but the tone clearly expressed anger and exasperation.

Alain laughs:

\- The little man has character.

Josiane smiles while swaddling the baby:

\- The "man" is a lady, Alain.

As she placed the child on her smiling mother's chest, her father leaned to discover his daughter:  
\- Oh... these green eyes! It promises its future beauty. I think I'll have to watch her window every night as soon as she has any shape... and the stick in hand.

Éveline Draconnis laughs:

\- She has already conquered her father. What will we call this little treasure...

\- Arthur, like my grandfather, cut the husband on a tone without reply.

The four women present - the wife, the midwife and her two assistants- exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Éveline shook her head:

\- A girl's name maybe... unless you want to turn your child's life into an ordeal?

The husband had the good grace to blush.

\- Uh... I promised my father to give his own father's name to my first child. I promised.  
\- A girl's name, like that of my aunt, for example, Asteria. It would be much better for a girl... who one day will need a nice name... so as not to frighten potential husbands.

The two spouses were not far from arguing under the gaze of their daughter who... seemed to listen to them by frowning... as if she were trying to understand what they were saying. Naturally, it was just a feeling... wasn't it?

After some exchanges on the same tone, Alain decided to give up some ground in the interest of household peace:

\- Okay... okay, a girl's name...

He darkened his eyebrows. Perhaps there was a way to respect his word... Arthur... but his wife wanted Asteria. Arth... Arteria?... no... Arturia? Not feminine enough... oh!

\- Why not... Artoria!?

As Alain was waiting for the reply of his wife who was frowning exasperated, a small voice gave a clearly affirmative cry. The parents discovered their baby who stared at them with an air of grave astonishment before shaking her head slowly and pushing her call a second time.

\- She seems to like it!

Éveline capitulated by sighing:

\- I agree with Artoria.

* * *

Lying in her cradle, arranged in a small barrel cut in half, the young Artoria Draconnis struggled against sleep. A fight that she would quickly lose... the newborns had little endurance. Her mind would have amazed her parents. They had enjoyed her reactions without understanding... how abnormal they were.  
The infant's limited brain contained an infinitely rich memory. That of a woman... that of a knight... that of a king...

Artoria Pendragon... the Saber of the Fourth and Fifth Fuyuki Grail Wars. Reincarnated, however, she had not forgotten her previous existence. As sleep carried her away, she murmured, her immature vocal cords crippled the word:

\- Shi... ro...

Hier arrival on the world of Nirn was certainly not a coincidence... especially not if one considered that hze new parents had made her regain her real name.

That same day, on the field of Cryngaine, King Lysandus of Daenia was assassinated. This death set in motion a veritable infernal mechanism.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

* * *

Once again, the summer extended on Hight-Rock. Eight years had passed; it was in the year 410 of the Third Era.

Under the banner of de La Roche ("Gold with a bull of gules") slamming in the wind, was seated a ravishing little girl of eight years. Dressed like a peasant, she wore a skirt under a white apron. Her gray bodice covered her chest and upper arms. It was tight over a shirt that stopped at the wrists. The hairstyle, white sheet, was held by a headband that kept the hair back and made it possible to hide them entirely.

If her clothes were common, although clean and almost new, her looks were noticeable. Her pale skin and oval face barely prepared for the shock of her piercing green eyes. Her face showed attention that was not childish as she listened to the story of the two tower guards:

\- ... so the two trolls were on us. Small but wide shoulder, they looked like three-eyed gorillas with brown fur. They hit the ground with their fists, uncovering their fangs and preparing to load. A troll is stronger than a man and it regenerates Not to mention that his fat protects him like an armor. So attacking him with the sword is futile. What have we done?

The child folded her eyes, thinking. Her eyes were on the two men at arms with their steel breasts, their gauntlets and their metal boots. One had a napkin salad as a helmet and the other had a bassinet. They both had a broadsword on their belts and a shield on their shoulders.

\- You did not attack them directly, otherwise you would have died, and you did not have ranged weapons... it was at night, you said?

She nodded for herself:

\- Yes... fire. You used your torches as a weapon since the grease of the trolls easily catches fire.  
The two guards looked at each other, surprised.

\- That's exactly what this is...

A footfall in the staircase caused the little girl to turn around while the guards tried to regain her composure. Fortunately, this was not a surprise inspection. A woman dressed almost identical to the girl arrived on the roof of the tower. Her gaze stopped at the child and she smiled:

\- Artoria, I knew I'd find you there.

Saber rose with natural dignity, dusting her apron before greeting Éveline Draconnis with a nod:  
\- Mother.

The woman had a little sigh. Artoria was calm, polite, intelligent... a very intelligent child... she had walked early, she already read very well and had an amazing vocabulary for her age but... She was such a serious girl, so serious. Somewhere that worried her mother very much.

\- Why aren't you playing with your friends?

\- I am very well here, Mother. Do you need my help with any housework?

Once again, Éveline sighed. Some children ran away from their chores and made mistakes... no, all children... except Artoria. That, too, was one of the things that worried her mother. Again, she was not acting like a child of her age.

\- No, I don't need your help, princess.

This was the nickname that naturally imposed itself on Éveline and her husband: "princess". Artoria behaved in a royal manner... even when she ate. Despite her appetite, she served herself with precise and quick gestures while keeping her face calm. This avoided the use of the term "bungling" to describe how she cleaned dishes. Maybe his greed was her only childish trait.

\- Go stop disturbing the guards in their work and go play with your friends.

Saber remained thoughtful for a moment. She preferred to stay with the spotters to learn fighting techniques useful against the creatures of the Nirn world. However, after reflection, playing cat-perched could be seen as a kind of training. And she needed to be strong if she wanted to convince her father to support her in her goal of becoming a squire.

So she agreed:

\- As you wish, Mother. Guard Ardin; guard Carmel, if you'll excuse me.

After an impeccable reverence, Artoria headed for the staircase in a screw-step that crossed the tower when the second guard called her back:

\- Artoria, if you and your friends are going to play outside the castle, remembers to stay within the perimeter of the patrols.

\- Thank you for your concern, Guard Carmel. I will see to it.

It was not just talk. From their guard station, the two men-at-arms had found that Artoria took adult warnings about the dangers of the forest very seriously. When she was with the other children, she always made sure they didn't do anything stupid.

After the little girl left, her mother apologized again that Artoria came to disturb them on their eve. Ardin laughed:

\- You know it doesn't bother us, Éveline. Our chore is useless. We are just doubling the ford station of the great keep. Good thing Artoria's coming.

\- She likes to be told about the monsters in the area. How to spot them, track them, neutralize them.  
Éveline shook her head, apologizing she left the two guards, morose, who exchanged a tired glance before bursting to laugh at their own disappointment which they saw in the face of the other:  
\- Return to normal guard.

\- Our princess, give us back our princess, said Carmel in a mocking tone.

Ardin mimed a devotee, turning his hands together towards the sun god:

\- May Akatosh hear and hear you, my son.

After another burst of laughter, Carmel shook his head:

\- What a strange little girl, she twists us around her little finger with a smile.

\- And I don't think we've seen anything yet... give her... say six or seven years and, with eyes like this, all the local boys will yawn at his feet.

* * *

Time passed, the months became successive years. Despite the latent threats of war, life continued peacefully for most of the inhabitants, although the Lord of La Roche looked at the Wrothgar Mountains with growing concern.

Summer 3E 417 arrived. The commemoration of the "Tiber Day" celebrated each year on 24 midyear would be held the following day.

The courtyard of honour, flanked by the corner of a decorated scroll staircase, was surrounded by a two-storey peristyle, windows and doors leading to all nearby buildings.

Like every morning, the squires trained there under the orders of Messire Nicolas de Leslier, a knight of about forty years who limped and had his face disfigured by a nasty scar.

His students formed a double line, in a coat of mail and a helmet, wearing a tabard and a shield decorated with de La Roche's blazon. They use wooden practice swords .

Fifteen-year-olds were in their third year of apprenticeship. Before that, they had begun as a page, to serve the meals of the guests of the Lord of Tournelle. Since the age of twelve, they spent two hours every day at the hands of Sir Nicolas.

He alternated practical exercises, examples to imitate, problem-solving, course on the board, lessons to learn, towards mnemonics and even drawings.

And these three years had allowed only to touch the complexity of the fencing with the long sword. Contrary to popular belief, being strong and enduring was not enough. It was not a question of handling a punch against a tree, but of defeating a supposed intelligent opponent, experienced and educated in the way of handling a blade... in any case something more reactive than a piece of wood.

\- Salute! Engage!

The two lines converged towards each other. The squires attacked those who were in front, each his own opponent. The techniques were fluid and fast. The sword was used in size, in estoc, and in flat. We linked by the left and by the right, we swapped sword and shield, we took the opponent by speed, and we committed ourselves to hand-to-hand. And all of this with eases.

Sir Nicolas insisted a lot on wrist movements. Arduous and very technical, they were difficult to master.  
He frowned. The knight would have liked to say that he did not expect this...

A very small squire had just engaged the iron with a loud cry, repelling his opponent - however much bigger - with a powerful blow. He leaped to the side and struck him with his foot in the back of the knee before setting him down with an extension carried on the helmet.

Sir Nicolas approached:

\- Student, take-off your helmet.

The teenager removed her bassinet to reveal an oval face surrounded by blonde highlights as powdered gold. The rest of the hair was gathered in a coiled mat at the back of the head. Her eyes were incredibly beautiful, the same green as the emeralds.

All around them the squires stopped. They watched, some holding their breath, others whispering. Clashes were frequent between their teacher and the "princess".

\- Damsel Artoria, can you repeat what I told you about... voice disturbances?

\- Yes, Sir Nicolas. A lady-knight fights in silence, with elegance.

\- Oh, beautiful, Lady Artoria, you heard. Too bad you didn't apply. Another thing, I told you about your habit of using attacks like... that cheap shot. A knight uses his weapons honorably.  
\- May I answer, Sir Nicolas?

The veteran had a thin smile.

\- Go ahead, Lady Artoria, have fun.

\- A martial art is above all the art of being effective. Appropriate response combinations must be used to return the situation to its advantage. You only enter the battlefield to kill... or be killed. There are no disgraceful techniques, not in a real fight at least.

Sir Nicolas seemed furious.

\- A knight fights with a sword and fights in accordance with the rules of fencing. A knight respects himself and respects his opponent by forbidding this kind of... fantasy!

\- With the exception of Your Honour, Sir Knight, I do not see any low blow.

\- You kicked your opponent to his knees and then you used his weakness to hit him! This is not chivalrous.

\- I see. My concern is that the problem is in your definition of chivalry. Can I explain?  
Sir Nicolas was compelled to remain calm:

\- Go ahead, Lady Artoria. I think we all want to hear this.

\- The chivalrous ideal is a daily art of life. The Chivalrous ideal asks every day, in every act, to respect the commandments of the Divine, the Emperor, the sovereign, the direct suzerain, the wife and the orphan, not to lay, not to cheat, not to break your word. Am I right, Sir Knight?

As Artoria stopped to question her teacher, he nodded:

\- Yes.

\- To do this, a knight must often take up arms. He must not run away from just combat and must protect the innocent.

\- Just as always.

\- If the knight is stronger. Is it permissible to use this strength? If he is more skilled at arms, does he have the right to use all his skill? Yes, he can. It can be said that fighting with all his resources is even a way to honor his enemy. Those who refuse to use their advantages by "chivalry" confuse the ideal of life and the fighting technique. A knight defends the good, he defends the innocent. Outside of a tournament, the knight cannot afford to jeopardize what he must defend by placing respect for courteous rules above concern for efficiency.

Sir Nicholas looked at Artoria in anger:

\- That is why low-extraction _manants_ cannot hope to become knights. A knight places honorability above all else, and he is proud to fight in accordance with courteous rules. Lady Artoria, perhaps you will at least understand this. Tomorrow, as your comrades celebrate "Tiber's Feast" in honour of the first Emperor Septim, the unifier of the continent, you will cut wood in the forest. It will probably be better for someone of your "quality"...

* * *

The next day, lumberjack axe in hand, Saber advanced into the forest.

She felt... furious. It was very difficult for her to persuade her father to pay her a squire's instruction. In High-Rock, knighthood was not reserved for nobility or men. Even women could become knights. Nevertheless, one had to have the financial means to buy weapons and expensive armor as well, especially as a war horse.

Nevertheless, learning was unequal. The nobles formed the majority of the squires and they created a bloc against the _manants_. The beauty of Artoria had not really benefited her. It was incredible what "noble" people could be shown to be infamous of themselves. The manner in which they had asserted their interest in her had not been discreet and to tell the truth, made Gilgamesh look like a perfect gentleman in comparison.

Saber sighed. Even after fifteen years on Nirn, this strange world, she still thought every day of Shiro... her Master. She was sure that he must have arrived on this world too. And Saber wanted more than anything to go looking for him.

As a result, she was not interested in boys. No doubt, it was not easy to push them away by making them feel how much they were bothering her.

To tell the truth, as the only girl and only non-noble among the squires, she was now well isolated. Not to mention that the learning... Saber shook her head, frustrated.

Breton knighthood was supposed to be an elite force. Only, despite incessant feudal wars, most knights had no idea what a real conflict was. They fought only among themselves by wearing a yoke of courteous rules reducing chivalry to a force of parade and review!

Saber smiled, shaking her head. Complaining did not resemble her at all, but she felt incredibly frustrated. Walking under the woods, the girl arrived at a clearing. Fallen trunks marked the tall grass. Saws, chop chopping wood adjoined with logs.

How many did she have to split, twenty? Yes, it had to be...

Her ordinary thoughts were swept away by a dark wave, a dreadful feeling. Something horrible was about to happen.

A shadow passed over the clearing and Artoria had the reflex to throw herself under the cover of a tree. With her eyes up, she discovered...

\- A dragon! ?

Impossible! Nirn's dragons had been exterminated centuries ago by the Blades, the bodyguards of the Emperor of Tamriel. In fact... despite a striking resemblance, the flying reptile was smaller. It must have been some kind of cousin, a wyvern or a drake. An unintelligent relative of the dragon seen... that he was sealed like a horse and that two creatures with green skin were on his back, wearing studded leather armor and crude weapons. Goblins...

Others of these winged monsters passed over her, mounted by their own horsemen. In the distance, sounded the alarm bell of the Castel de Tournelle. Saber opened her eyes, horrified!

\- No, not that...

Forgetting her usual prudence, losing all ability to reason, Saber began to run towards the castle. No, her parents! Armed with a simple lumberjack axe, wearing skirts and bodices, the girl thought only of her family, her friends. While she was in the woods, she heard explosions, cries... Crossing the edge of the forest, she discovered Tournelle on fire.

Goblins mounted on the wyvern threw black bundles that exploded against the towers and walls, creating new fires.

About ten winged lizards passed in formation. Their riders threw more explosives. Just before a fragment struck her at the temple and everything became black, Saber saw the ramparts disintegrate into a formidable deflagration.

* * *

**First real chapter of Fate/ Dragoncrown. Ah, Saber at eight... so cuuuute! 3 The translation was complicated because the realms, the months, the places do not have the same names in the French version of the TES and in the original in English. In addition, there were many terms relating to heraldry or medieval weaponry.**

**Feel free to comment and report errors. I need your feedback.**


	3. Chapter 3 The battle of the Bjoulsae

**The dress worn by Rin Tohsaka is similar to the one seen in the game "Fate Hollow Ataraxia".****I don't think there's going to be any criticism this time about Rin being useless.**

**The city of "Torrent" is my invention... I find that given the size of the kingdom of Menevia, it would be strange if there were only one important city.**

**I also invented Prince Pélage, because I found it strange that the King of Meneva did not have a boy from his first marriage.****Its name is the French version of a Roman name much appreciated by the authors of the TES: "Pelagius".**

**The Battle of the Bjoulsae**

On destroyed worlds, time sleeps, motionless.

The castle of Tournelle lay in the rubble of its torn walls. Skeleton of fortress where stretches of blackened walls and mutilated towers protruded. The fire was burning in the ruins and the wind carried to the flax the dreadful smell of burned bodies.

Yet there was life in the devastated castle.

A tearful figure went from one body to another identifying... a guard with whom she had spoken... a old Khajiit who had taught her to read... a squire who had mocked her... a teenager of her age whom she remembered flouting a declaration of love.

Artoria Draconis died at the same time as all the inhabitants of the fortress.

With her tears she closed the memories of the father who had supported her when she learned to walk, the mother who told her stories. Her second childhood had just ended. The first had not been so happy. Uther Pendragon had died when she was eight years old and she had never met him. Her mother... the Duchess of Cornwall, hated her.

Saber shook her head.

Yet the memories of her first life were what gave her the strength to continue visiting the ruins. She had not found a living thing. Everywhere laid the remains of the inhabitants, often surrounded by goblin corpses. Saber had, however, found a map of the Menevia and a backpack in the guardhouse, a purse on a corpse and an intact quarterstaff in the hands of a guard.  
Artoria Draconis, the daughter of Alain Draconis and Eveline Draconis, had died at the same time as her parents, but Artoria Pendragon was alive and wanting to avenge everything she had lost.  
To do this, she must first reach Wayrest, the capital, to warn King Eadwyre. Holding a new sob, Saber went down the steep path that allowed descending from the fortress from the eastern postern. This was the fastest road, bypassing the entire escarpment of the main road. Arriving at the foot of the rock supporting the ruins of Tournelle, Artoria arrived at a bifurcation.

While she hesitated, her instinct warned her that a rear guard of the attackers lingered near the castle in the hope of picking up survivors coming out of hiding. Avoiding the two paths, Saber slipped under the thick foliage of the woods that were cascading on the slopes of the Wrothgar Mountains.

For almost half an hour, Artoria made her way through the thick brush. As a heavy beating passed over her head, she clung to the rough trunk of a century-old oak tree. Between the leaves, she discerned one of the winged monsters who had attacked the castle. The creature carried a saddle occupied by two goblins. These small humanoids related to the Mers - the Elves - formed very primitive warrior clans living from the brigandage and looting of isolated villages. Like orcs and ogres, they worshipped Malacath, the god of the outcasts. Some of Tamriel's cultures, like the Aldmers, had enslaved them to fight for them. North of the Wrothgar Mountains, the goblin clans were vassals of the orcs. The stronger, more organized ones had no trouble imposing themselves on their weak cousins, paying for their services with weapons and tools.

Waiting for the patrol to leave, Saber ran slowly towards the southwest, bypassing the ruins of the castle.  
However, just five hundred meters later, she came to rest when she heard an explosion shake the trees. Intrigued, she approached, taking care to stay under cover. Having spent her childhood in the area, the teenager remembered elven ruins in this direction. On the spot, she discovered a troop of about thirty goblins and perhaps three or four times more, lying on the ground dead or dying among the remains of the ancient Direnni's city. All of a sudden...

\- _Fixiering Eile Salve_ !

A gust of _Gandr Shot_ blew into the air, striking the goblins with the power of a machine gun. The magic projectiles were curses so powerful that they took on a tangible form, drops of darkness wrapped in a blood-red aura. It was a massacre. The first rank of humanoids collapsed.  
A colossal orc, recognizable by its pig face, covered with a black chainmail, loosed a long blackjack to its belt, stinging the goblins' backs to revive them to attack.

Artoria drew the lumberjack axe, her only weapon, and observed the clash, her heart beating with a doubling in his chest.

_Gandr Shot_...

_This spell in German_...

_And especially that voice_!

Moving to see the interior of the ruins, Saber discovered...

A young woman, barely older than she, is standing up to the humanoid horde all alone. She wears a long dress leaving her shoulders bare, cut in red satin, sleeves and bodice lined with black tulle. A vermeil and ebony fabric necklace completes her outfit. She is styled in pigtails decorated with black ribbons, an Asian with beautiful sapphire eyes. Rin Tohsaka, Archer's master in the Fifth Grail War... and a very dear friend! A touch of red appeared on the cheeks of Saber who drove away the memory of a ruined house in the Einzbern forest.

As five goblins ran toward Rin, the spear waved, she turned to them with her right arm outstretched, supported by her left hand. A rain from _Gandr_ plucks the humanoids, breaking their armor. However, she did not see that one last monster climbed a pillar, a dagger bent between the teeth. He is ready to leap...

Boosted by the **Prana Burst,** Saber leaps forward and strikes. The goblin has only time to shout that his life breaks. The arrival of a second opponent completes demoralizing the frails monsters. They fall back into disorder. However, the orc who commands them takes a vindictive look before moving away.  
\- Saber!

Rin also recognized her friend. With her hands pressed on her chest, she stares at the former Servant with surprise:

\- What... but...

Then the Magus shook her head and smiled:

\- You always seem to pop up at the right time.

\- Rin, I'm as surprised as you can be. How did you get to Nirn?

\- Oh? Isn't it obvious?

Her eyes narrowed to shine with a perfectly evil glow matched to her crooked smile:  
\- I was born on Nirn. Seventeen years ago! And my last memory of my previous life is that I fainted because of the blood lost in my fight against Kirei. You and that idiot Shiro-kun were about to prevent the materialization of the Grail... and you failed, didn't you!?  
Saber agreed, summarizing in a few sentences the fight then their discussion with Angra Mainyu, before ending with his new life. An arm passed on her stomach, rubbing her lips with the other hand, Rin listened with interest. She ends up sighing:

\- Exactly what I feared.

Artoria, one hand on her hip, leaned her head slightly to the side. Her gaze was serious:  
\- You don't seem surprised, Rin.

\- I have already met two former Masters and one Servant. I suppose the wish to give all the victims of the Grail War a second chance is the cause. And I guess all that happens now is the danger that you and Shiro have to stop...

Artoria nodded seriously:

\- I suppose so too, Rin. In fact... should I call you Rin?

\- Yes, this is not the name I received at birth, but according to the tradition of the Guild of the Magi, a new summoner can register under the name of his choice. And I took "Rin Tohsaka".

Saber pounded his eyelids, impressed:

\- Have you ever been an summoner of the guild?

Rin blushes before repelling one of her twintail with a mechanical gesture and pounding the torso:  
\- Obviously, I am a genius. As an individual, I have to thank you and Shiro because... ah... that can wait. There is more urgent!

She took a letter out of her sleeve and handed it to Saber:

\- This is a letter addressed to the Earl de La Roche by the Master of Wayrest Guild House. Alas, we were attacked on the way and I was forced to continue on foot.

Artoria reads a few lines and jumped:

\- A mage betrayed and helped the orcs attack?

Rin nodded coldly:

\- The Magus in question is called... Shinji Matou. You understand better why I am not really surprised to meet you?

\- I do now, Rin.

\- I'd stay and talk to you, but... I'm tired of the fighting I've been doing since this morning. I have a way home to Torrent, but I can't take you.

The young Magus hesitated and Saber smiled:

\- Don't worry about me. I can handle myself.

Rin agreed, hesitated, and took her friend in her arms. After a while, she made an effort to break contact:  
\- Promise me you will see me very soon, I have thousands of things to tell you.

\- I promise, Rin. Good luck to you!

\- To you too.

Rin drew a medallion from a holster on his belt. It was seen as a complex pentacle. She impregnated it with _prana_ before pronouncing a command word:

\- _Erinnerung_!

The magic circle engraved on the fetish appeared under her feet as she became translucent. A moment later, all that remained were luminous particles that dispersed.

Artoria nodded. This is a teleport spell that had probably brought Rin home, a useful precaution in case of dangerous travel.

* * *

Saber turned towards the tree-covered hills that were cascading from the Wrothgar Mountains towards the Stormhaven plains. The river Bjoulsae waved in this peaceful landscape… finally not totally peaceful. A high column of smoke climbed into the sky. Seen the direction, to the southeast, it must have been the city of Torrent burning. The teenage girl clenched her lips... Rin! Refusing to worry about what she could not change, she resumed her walk.

Artoria followed a path that joined a wider road that descended southwesterly. The high pavement was overrun by a dreadful crowd. Carts on which little goods had been piled up were next to wheelbarrows, people on foot, men, women, and children. They had haunted faces. They walked without speaking, without a look to the right or to the left, their lines drawn, their eyes fixed on the ground or in front. Despite their exhaustion, they were moving forward.

Unwilling to mingle with them, the squire followed a path parallel to the road. She reached a small, miserable farmhouse built on the edge of a tiny plot where only pebbles grew. The door was wide open. There was no noise. Saber pressed the lumberjack's axe, her only weapon. Fruit was left on the table; a stool lay on the floor. It looked like a gale had thrown the contents of the buffet to the ground.

\- Is anyone in there?

No one replied and Saber shrugged her shoulders. To calm her hunger, the teenager quickly ate the abandoned fruits. She was about to leave when horrified calls rang out. The girl ran to the entrance of the road leading to the farmhouse. The little road she had followed was visible… and it was panic. The reason appeared to her when a shadow overshadowed the sun for a moment. One… no, three… Yes, three giant birds were spinning in the wind. They looked like lizards with bat wings and a long sinuous neck finished by a head with a heavy beak filled with teeth. Whatever these horrors were and what they were called, they were used as mounts. Each one wore two humanoids on leather stools.

\- Goblins!

One of the dragons' stupid cousins ran into a cart full of scared children. A trio of goblins jumped out of the saddle and attacked their parents. Saber's blood only took one turn. She took the hit with two hands. In her chest, the dragon's heart was activated: **Prana Burst**. An instant later, she had caught up with the team. Her weapon whistled and cut the neck of a first humanoid monster. The other two goblins experienced an equally expeditious end.

Alas, other aerial mounts were spinning above the column of fugitives, plunging down on the men to rip them off the ground and release them from the sky. Goblins also emptied quivers, gleaning with contentment. Around her, it was carnage. The terrified refugees ran under the trees and Saber followed their example.

After walking for several hours, she reached a wide stream. According to her map, it must have been the Bjoulsae. This river cut Ménevia from north to south, slaloming for many kilometers before reaching the Illiac Bay a little to the east of Wayrest. There was a bridge to the south of her position. Except that the road seemed to be going straight ahead and that... She listened to the rumors of combat: Battle horns, clash of weapons, shouting.

**Blessing of the Lady of the Lake**.

No body of water could stop the legitimate carrier of Excalibur. The blessing continued to protect her, running on the surface of the water; Saber reached the other side of the river in an instant.

* * *

Walking south, she went out of the forest on top of a hill overlooking the royal road where it crossed the river. The stone bridge was disputed in a fierce fight, the neighing of the horses responded to the cries of the combatants and the striking of steel against steel. Under the stone arch, the water had taken on a red hue and the current was carrying corpses.

At the height of the melee, a knight in heavy plate armor, his helmet surmounted by a crown of gold and a head of winged pegasus fought a musculous and drooling ogre.

These two figures wonderfully symbolizing the armies that clashed: men of arms, halberds, crossbowmen fighting under the banner decorated with three roses of the Menevia against goblins archers, barbarian mercenaries, Reachmen in fur clothing and orcs in armor of orichacum who raised black flags. The sky was filled with arrows, bolts, lightning, ice stalactites and fireballs.  
The noble knight in charge of Menevia's army could only be Prince Pélage, the king's eldest son. His sword was splitting the masses of goblins converging on him. The ogre attacked, brandishing over his head a huge axe of green metal. There were sparks when the blades collided. Prince Pélage's sword did not break... But the horse knelt, unable to withstand the power of the impact.  
Despite this the prince was not yet defeated, he stood up and wanted to strike. At that moment, an arrow pierced his flank. A double cry of horror and jubilation crossed the battlefield... the defeat of Menevia seemed close.

Except that Saber had crossed the Breton ranks to pick up the magnificent sword of Pélage and divert the deadly blow intended to end the days of the heir to the throne.

Despite the calm face that the teenager showed to everyone, she was terrified of her own impetuousness. Her second life had returned her to a human body still poorly trained in combat. She only had for weapon an ordinary sword of steel, certainly a weapon forged for a prince, and before her...  
A cry shook the sky, expressing a brutal and primitive anger.

The ogre reached nearly three meters. His body,color of dirty ivory, was deformed because of his massive musculature. His bald, hairless skull with his big, droopy mouth and round eyes couldn't have looked more stupid. The monster was dressed in a fur loincloth with two human skulls attached to the waist. He also had bracelets of force, in studded leather, on his wrists. His massive axe must have been less as long as an adult man.

All the courage in the world couldn't do anything against a good shot.

Without looking after Saber, the ogre relaxed one of his powerful hands, snatching the prince from his saddle, lifting him up above his head before sending him to several of his men who collapsed in the middle. Faced with this terrifying display of strength, the soldiers hesitated to move forward and they could hardly be blamed.

Immediately, the anthropophagical monster rushed forward,, sweeping several men in large movements of his axe. Some halberdiers wanted to react but were stopped by a party of goblins who rushed at them.

Holding the prince's sword, Saber tried to remember what the Tournelle guards had taught her about these monsters. They are large humanoids, almost giants. They live in the mountains and remote regions of Cyrodiil and High-Rock. But we also meet them in the orc armies where they are renowned for their power, their savagery and... their cannibal temperament.

Slowly circling the ogre, Artoria studied it attentively. The monster grunted but seemed to be waiting for the attack. Fortunately, the monster was far from unharmed. He had been fighting since morning and the prince's soldiers had managed to hurt him several times... However, he should not be underestimated. The creature remained fearsome.

Suddenly, the ogre jumped forward. However, the axe iron sank into the stone. Artoria faded to the side and his sword struck a deep slash in the chest. The blood gushes all over the soiled dress of the teenage girl.

As she was staggering, the ogre attacked again. Saber jumped and the huge axe simply nicked her shoulder slightly.

Tightening the hands on the handle of his weapon, the monster growled.

**Prana Burst**, Artoria crosses the few strides separating her from the ogre in a flash. The whistle sword opened a third slash on the chest. Nevertheless, the ogre reacts with an astounding rapidity for its size. A masterful backhand ran towards Saber, who lost hope. Raised by the impact, she struck the balustrade of the deck violently.

The creature rushed forward, his weapon raised high, determined to finish the fight. Except Artoria rolled on one shoulder and straightened out in motion. With the same fast reflexes as before she rushed forward and the blade of the prince cut the handle of the axe... causing the iron to fall to the ground!  
Unfortunately, the monster violently threw the remaining fragment at Artoria's staggering head, her lip cracked, her eyes filled with tears. The monster's fist struck the teenage girl in the belly and the prince's sword escapes her. The other hand is already closing on her throat. He'd put her on the ground, and he'd squeeze her neck.

Artoria's hand closed on a bloody spear of a goblin. The monster howled with pain and terror when the iron sunk into his eye. He let go and the skimmer rolled aside. Saber straightened up, knocked on the belly to open a new wound. The ogre collapsed and the last blow was carried by the exhausted girl, covered with wounds and bumps.

Around Saber, the battle remained furious but the halberdiers began to repel the goblins demoralized by the death of their leader. However, the fire of arrows resumed more beautifully and men-at-arms of the prince approached Pélage and Artoria to elevate a wall of shields. Raising the knight's visor, the young girl uncovered the bloodless face of the inheritor of the throne, his pale lips that drew a smile:

\- Lady, you have saved me from knowing the fate of the victims of an ogre. My life is coming to an end... but I would rest among my ancestors... thank you. Take my horse, and go and warn my father of my defeat. May he defend Wayrest, our salvation now rests in the power of its ramparts. Go, go and take my blessing.

With a heart full of sadness, Artoria bid farewell to the prince, then climbed on her white stallion, which she threw on the way to the south, leaving far behind the fierce battle that resumed behind her back, while the enemy launched all its power to the assault.

* * *

**Very hard first fights for Saber who still has only a small part of her power.**


	4. Chapter 4 Collapse

**In the Middle-Ages, ranks are not as developed as in modern times. A captain is an army chief. As for a lieutenant... it takes place (lieu-tenant) of king, it is an official charged by the king to represent him in the army.**

**Traction trebuchets are ancient siege weapon with comparable range and power than torsion-powered artillery, and far higher rates of firing and accuracy**

**Collapse**

Goblins moved along the river. Sheltered behind the curtain of firs and bushes, a hand on the muzzle of his mount, Artoria detailed the appearance of the creatures. Seen from profiles, the goblins' faces had a definite resemblance to a caricature of a crescent moon. The nose was as crooked as the chin was prominent. The narrow, green face was covered with pustules. The orange eyes with yellow sequins were split like a cat's. The mouth with thin lips, almost non-existent, revealed in a permanent rictus a row of yellow fangs, badly implanted, bent, similar to rock needles cracked by the gel.

They were wearing improbable breastplates made up of patches of chainmail recovered from corpses, smelly, barely tanned skins, shabby furs, and rusty metal pieces. All held in place by straps and ties. The disparity of the armor only mirrored that of the weapons. Impossible to qualify the… things they held in their hands under one name or another. They were just pieces of metal that were corroded. Some had some kind of spears or halberds, some of the shields on which a clumsy hand had drawn a drawing that could be interpreted as a screaming face. A part of the troop used small arches of bad craftsmanship. From their wicker quivers, protruded arrows impaled with crow's feathers

The Saber of the Fifth Grail War did not need to imagine the smell of filth and body never lifted that was stagnant near these creatures. She had placed herself under the wind to escape their developed sense of smell and began to regret having one.

For three days, this troop -or another just like it- reappeared on its heels no matter what she did. If she had been able to gallop her great steed on one of the roads of Menevia, Artoria Pendragon would certainly have quickly gotten rid of this cumbersome company. However, the main roads were crowded with refugees and debris from the army of Prince Pélage, impossible to move there otherwise than at the pace. Not to mention the raids of winged horrors that served as aerial mounts for green skins. The secondary routes were even more dangerous because goblin scouts used them.

Guided by a taller orc, who pushed his warriors forward with a whip, the troop passed quickly without suspecting the presence of Saber. She waited a long time without daring to let her guard down. However, apart from the torrent's lapping, the wind in the conifers, she heard nothing. Hoisted into the saddle, she climbed up the creek to a small waterfall and resumed the dirt road that had led her here. The call of a raven made her head stand up, a superb black bird hooped above her. The teenager, warned by her supernatural instinct - so useful in combat - felt that the animal facing her was not really what he appeared to be. With one wing stroke, the bird went downriver, the direction taken by the goblins.

In the shade of the forest, Saber was advancing southwesterly. His progression was uninterrupted for a long and uniform time. However, when she reached a crow's foot, she discerned wolf footprints in the mud, large and deeply imprinted. The canines that had passed there were of a totally unusual size in this region. In addition, they carried a weight that could only be explained by the presence of a rider. The teenager mentally drew two lines in the ground, corresponding to a step of wolf, and then divided the tracks by four. She acquiesced. Six wolves and their goblin riders had come from the north-east before descending by the road leading to Wayrest. Artoria had no choice but to take the same road… or more exactly a parallel road. Fortunately, Prince Pélage's white horse was advancing almost as fast in the middle of the woods as on the road. And he was almost silent.

At the end of two leagues, the young squire slowed down and listened. Three wolves passed on the road. As she thought, they were really huge and carrying goblins on their backs. Not really a good thing— whatever was the reason that caused some scouts to retrace their steps, it was now between the two groups. Artoria Pendragon thought for a moment to cut south through the forest. However, she knew nothing of the terrain and could not follow the sun because the branches of trees hid it from her eyes.

So he had to continue along the road.

* * *

The hours passed and the night was now near. To complicate things, the squire felt his hunger returning.  
The only village she discovered, simple coalmen huts, was abandoned. The place had undergone a familiar visit… A goblin spear forgotten at the scene clearly identified the invaders. The only bodies she found at the scene were old peoples. Goblins seized all the villagers in their prime, as well as the children, and took them elsewhere. What they intended to do with it, Artoria preferred not to imagine it.

The prince's great steed had gone his way. On his back, Saber was still advancing southwesterly, by small shady trails, well protected from a possible aerial patrol. She had not met anyone since the day before, good or bad, but remained cautious.

A confused rumor suddenly broke out about his gloomy mood. Artoria pulled on the reins of her mount and listened attentively. It seems, yes… a battle! Neighing, metal clashes, cries, war horns, these almost inaudible distant noises signaled the presence of two armies in full combat. The squire hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. On the one hand, learning more about the invasion was all part of his mission. On the other hand, getting closer presented very significant risks. Frustrated, Artoria turned her head in every direction, the echoes echoed, sent back by the trees of the forest. Unable to orient herself, she could as well throw herself on goblins by wanting to move away, as well as go in the distance.

The first thing to know is to know your position before making a decision. The young squire set foot on the ground and set out to climb on the highest tree at the edge of the road. There were some advantages to having lived a second childhood recently. Saber had been able to practice this activity. Arriving at the highest branches, she turned on one side and on the other. A shimmer drew her a small stroke of heart. It was the Bjousae. There could be no other river of this size flowing from north to south in that area. According to the map, the royal road crossed the river twice before reaching Wayrest, the capital of Menevia. The second bridge was not to be very far away. Further south, but still on the stream, was climbing a column of smoke. Nothing else could be seen at this distance. Nevertheless, there was no doubt; the origin of the fighting had to be there.

Artoria Pendragon hurried back to the ground. She took her horse by the bridle and sank into the forest in a westerly direction. For now, he had to avoid the hordes of green skins that were trying to cross the Bjoulsae. There was certainly no shortage of passable roads further down the river. Ferries or, if not, fishing boats— in any case other than the point chosen by the goblins to pass into force.

After only a few kilometers, the apprentice knight fell on a path more important than the one she had so far followed. The dirt road was not empty… bodies littered it. Goblins, orcs and even a dead troll leaning against a tree. They were surrounded by Breton soldiers with broken armor and broken shields. A groaning made her flinch. Not everyone had died there. A young man was lying on the ground. Artoria turned him over, his right arm formed a grotesque angle… broken and an open fracture from the blood flowing. He also had a wound on his side. Saber raised his head, stroking his forehead.

\- What the hell happened?

The man pounded eyelids and opened feverish eyes.

\- We… (coughed) were leading a group of refugees to Wayrest and the… orcs attacked us… it was horrible. The people with us…

\- Yes?

\- Have they managed to escape?

\- I don't know…

In the middle of bodies of all origins, the apprentice knight saw a little woven straw doll. There was no other evidence that non-combatants have been through this.

\- What's your name, soldier?

\- Oct… Octavian…

\- I'm sorry, I can take you with me. I will treat your wounds as well as I can and take you away from the trees. I don't have any food either, I don't have it myself. If I could, I would find the refugees and save them.

Affected by the situation, Artoria got back into the saddle once the soldier had been treated and headed south.

* * *

The horse howled with pain and rolled to the ground. His rider fell on his back and only a reflex allowed him to prevent his horse from crushing him in his agony. Artoria Pendragon folded her eyes at the sight of the arrow sticking out of her stallion's chest. An instant later, she was standing and running to the shelter of the trees of the forest. Other traits began to whistle at her ears. The shooters were hardly experienced and their projectiles got lost in the antlers or stuck in the nearby trunks.

The squire turned to see goblins come out of the groves. Their leader was a huge orc, armed with a whip. He beat his subordinates mercilessly, insulting them, because they did not run fast enough to pursue her. Artoria was not yet ready to die. She set out among the wood, tearing her clothes in the brambles, slapped by the low branches. The apprentice knight emerged on the hillside, her foot slipped and she rolled down the slope, amidst a rain of gravel. Without taking the trouble to check her injuries, the teenager resumed her course. She waded in a creek and climbed up to the next hill.

A croak rang above her. Turning around, Artoria Pendragon saw that a raven was hulling. With a wing stroke, he set off again towards the goblins deployed on the other side of the narrow valley. As one of the green skins turned to him, he turned around to spin like an arrow towards Saber, again pushing his cry by making a turn over her head. No wonder goblins always find her. The crow acted as a kind of guide.

Hunted, the squire suddenly saw a narrow tunnel. The stones that formed the frame were clearly the work of intelligent beings. However, the frost had cracked the rock and roots were spreading in fan. If there had ever been a door to close the passage, it had long since disappeared.  
Saber hesitated for a brief instant. For the moment, she was hidden from the eyes of the goblins by the trees and the rugged terrain. However, the creatures had to continue their way to expand and fold it. The top of the hill was bare. She would be exposed on all sides to the eyes and projectiles of the green skins. Artoria therefore had no choice.

She used her wimple to repel the spider webs and the root curtain that hung from the vault. The interior was totally obscure. However, her senses were very developed. The floor was flat, paved… it was a neat job. Probably a passage built by the Dwarves. Artoria pressed the pace to get away from the entrance. She was walking maybe half a league when she noticed something on the ground. The teenager approached and recognized a skeleton, probably a remnant of a traveler. The teen girl knelt down to search the body. He had a full purse and a dagger that would probably no longer be useful to him. She appropriated them with a closed face.

The corridor widened there, probably to form a large room. However, her sight bore only a few meters in such deep darkness. The girl picked up some small stones and threw them one after the other. The stones hit the walls in all directions. With caution, Saber followed the wall to his right. After a dozen steps, his fingers found only the void. There was a passage. The air there was the cold, moist breath of the undergrounds insufficiently ventilated. The skimmer saw only a corridor on a very slight slope. She continued on her first road another ten meters and ran into a new void.

In fact, the hall was the crossing of several dozen galleries. After a long time, Saber felt a draft of air coming from one of the passages. She pressed the pace and soon saw the light of day.  
Artoria emerged by a passage exactly similar to that by which she had accessed the underworld. As for the latter, the entrance was located on the hillside. The sun that welcomed her was low because the skimmer had walked long hours, probably travelling ten leagues.

Despite her fatigue, Artoria had progressed all night. The loss of her stallion was a very hard blow. Her saddlebags and blanket were gone with him, which was annoying. More seriously, the only way she had left to progress was the march. And to make matters worse, she emerged from the hills in the early morning to meet the plain of the Bjoulsae.

The man had marked the region with his hand. He had laid out roads and fields raised the farmhouses and hamlets that stretched at her feet. Everything was lit by a beautiful summer sun. It would be a pleasant day for the inhabitants. Only, the nearest village was abandoned, doors smashed, furniture and everyday objects, broken, abandoned in the street, destroyed for the taste of destroying.

The vanguard of the orc army had passed. Yet it was not the most serious. It could see the great royal road to the northeast; it described a wide curve before continuing to the south. Despite the distance, the apprentice knight could see the horde advancing along the entire width of the roadway.  
Without stopping, it resumed its course due south.

Luck smiled on her when she found a brook encased, hidden on both sides by hedges of trees. The goblins scouts could not see it and the stream would necessarily lead it to the Bjousae. There, it would have to be notified.

After an hour of walking, she reached the corpse of a winged lizard, like those who served as an aerial mount for goblins. The monster had been pierced by an arrow that protruded into his chest. Then, he fell to the ground and in the convulsions of agony turned to drown his rider. Artoria only saw the goblin's arm under the remains.

It was her only encounter with the enemy and she reassured her a little. On the second night, since the loss of her mount, the apprentice knight reached a small fishing village on the Bjoulsae. The houses on stilts had been looted, abandoned. Again, there were only corpses of elderly people abandoned on the spot. She had to cross the river. However, there were no boats left of any kind.  
In spite of this, Saber descended the stream. The sickle moon dimly illuminated the bank of the river. The wind was silent, and the fauna disturbed by the events of the last days was hiding. The peace and calm of the landscape appeased the girl somewhat.

An impeccably sawn and deprived trunk of its banks had touched the shore here, probably a forgotten cargo of driftwood bound for the downstream.

Despite her pale porcelain and her frail young figure, Artoria Pendragon had an immature dragon's core in her chest. The latter gave her a terrible strength. She pushed the trunk, engaging in her follow in the fresh water. The wave happily kept some of the heat of the summer sun.  
Attached to the trunk, the squire listened with all his ears. If the east shore – where it came from- was perfectly silent, horse neighing came from the west. Carefully, Saber turned to this side. There was the brightness of a camp fire.

The riders who had settled there were surprised in the middle of the night. Silhouettes clashed in Chinese shadows amidst the screams, the clashes of steel. The skimmer was doubly happy with the darkness of the night. The absence of light concealed the trunk to which she was clinging. In return, she hid a new horror scene from him.

At sunrise, Saber touched the ground in a muddy cove. The morning fog masked the groves that were growing by the water's edge. There were no signs of life around it, although the ground has a footprint of thousands of steps heading west. A few hours later, when she was stranded on the lower side of a road, the girl saw goblins passing by on a supply cart pulled by oxen. It was raging. Whatever Artoria did, she remained behind enemy positions. One thing, however, had improved. She was now near Wayrest, on the good shore of the river. The purpose of her journey was not very far away.

* * *

Artoria Pendragon ran when the captain of the crossbowmen told him. The passage was indeed delicate. Both sides were on both sides of the Osma, a tributary of the Bjoulsae. To cross the river, one had to cross a buoyant and fortified bridge which was, in fact, the raison d'être of these wooden forts. The chains that connected the small boats were responsible for stopping the long war canoes of the goblins.

As the girl ran, bent in half, to reach the other shore, she could see the many archers at their posts. These men had circular helmets with a point and a fur border from which hung an iron camail that left only their faces visible. A green brigantine decorated with the coat of arms of the three roses of the Menevia clothed them, arms and legs covered with mesh. They used yew bows as big as a man. At the waist hung a quiver with long arrows.

Saber clung to a stake when the bridge began to pitch, shaken by the fall of heavy stones lifting high bundles of water. She turned in the direction of the shots to discover a stretch of raised ground reinforced with mantelets protecting a battery of Breton traction trebuchet. After their salvo against the goblin canoes, they were being reloaded.

\- Come on, Officer, we're under fire!

Indeed, one could hear the sound of the arrows hitting the palisade suspended above the water. It was reminiscent of hail, but the Bretons archers who hid behind the trunks did not lead wide.

Artoria pressed her teeth and tried to get ahead. They arrived at the door of the wooden fort. The entrance on the river side was open, although it was guarded by a section of voulgiers wearing brigantines, the head topped with a salad with a fixed visor and neck cover.  
They entered at the same time as light riders sitting on decorated high stools. These men were impregnated with the smell of perspiration, smoke and the copper of blood. Their weapons were dull and some mounts carried the corpses of their horsemen lying by the side.

The camp, despite its small size, was swarming with people. There was an atmosphere of precipitation, of violence. At the foot of the north wall, men were busy reloading their crossbows, before climbing the ladder to the round road. They joined with other defenders who threw stones at invisible... but noisy opponents... that one guessed rushed on the other side of the wooden wall.  
Hundreds of mats were stretched out, on the ground, to receive the wounded. The good priestesses of Kynareth took care of them. An Arkay priest with a long white beard, surrounded by two assistants armed with censers, was in charge of giving the ultimate sacrament to the dying.

\- Come, continue his guide, the captain will see you.

In the midst of the round tents that lined up against the west wall, one of them was particularly remarkable for its size. This real canvas castle was centered on a vast table surrounded by knights in armor, helmets in the hollow of the arm, leaning over the maps that were spread there. Artoria was led before a noble lord dressed in a silk-fringed doublet scarlet hood and zibeline. The waistband held a sword sheath decorated with silverware plates where a rainbow of precious stones shone.

\- Welcome, I am Captain de Hauteclair. My mission is to evacuate all the inhabitants I find and food supplies from nearby villages.


	5. Chapter 5 The Siege (1)

**The jaque is the name given to several types of armor. It covers the torso and the arms going down to the top of the knee. Some are made of mesh and are then only hauberks. The fabric jacket is an armor made of several layers of thick fabric.**

**Gambeson is an armor of thick upholstered fabric of spunk or quilted cotton.  
The hoqueton is the name of the coat of arms that men of arms wear over their armor. It is part of the livery (the equivalent of the medieval uniform). However, some foot people have no other armor than the hiccup which must then certainly be made of several layers of thick fabric.**

**In the Middle Ages, the same name can refer to several different armors... or vice versa, the same armor can be designated by several names, hence a certain artistic blur in the designations.**

* * *

**The Siege  
(Part One)**

30 Midyear 3E 417

The Bjoulsae River flowed south, calm and powerful, yet so difficult to dominate, and sometimes deadly. Where he reached the coast, the men had gathered in their first societies, raising the city of Wayrest.

Captain Hauteclaire, commander of the soldiers piling up on the bridge of the carrak, looked towards Refuge. He showed the orc regiments that were spinning around the ramparts, as well as the vaults that were flying high above the roofs. He speak to Artoria Pendragon:

\- The pigs' offspring are starting to invert the city, but I doubt that the siege is already full. As for the wyvern, they simply scare the population. The soldiers on the docks are Bretons and the banners that float on the towers are those of Menevia.

As the ships approached the shore, the nature of the smoke ribbons surrounding Wayrest became clearer. The seats of fire were not within its walls, but outside. The villages and farms built in the middle of the fields had been burned by the invaders. Likewise, the suburbs to the north of the city were ablaze.

As soon as the ships touched the docks, madness seemed to seize the place. A crowd of civilians rushed in screaming, looking to climb aboard. Men were calling. Crying women raised terrified children above their heads.

Captain Hauteclaire issued orders for a security cordon to deploy and prevent the crowd from storming his ships:

\- But why is there such panic? Artoria asked.

The officer wanted to answer, but a gigantic shadow hid the sun. The squire turned to the sky, following with her eyes a wyvern that was moving away. Others gathered and fell on the harbor. The goblins mounted on their backs loosened arrows at random, dispersing the crowd in the midst of loud cries. On the rooftops of the storehouses, crossbowmen fought back as they could. However, the dragons' cousins were already dispersing. On leaving, one of the winged monsters closed his cleats on a horrified soldier, taking him in the air with a wing blow.

Artoria Pendragon reacts only by a narrowing her beautiful green eyes, showing little of the anger that bubbled in her. Yet her helplessness ulcerated the girl. At her side, Captain Hauteclaire was already distributing his orders. It was necessary to unload the grain loaded on board the ships, as well as the men to strengthen the garrison. Once this is done, the ships could handle as many women, children and old people as possible to evacuate them to the island of Balfiera.

Without waiting for the soldiers to set up the ramp, Artoria jumped ashore and ran to the nearest postern. The guards, busy calming the civilians, or looking up at the sky, did not prevent her from entering. Unfortunately, the city was plunged into real chaos and she had to dodge through the crowd that was going around in circles. Artoria thus reached a place where soldiers standing on an army cart threw various weapons... King Eadwyre was reduced to this end? Recruit all the volunteers? Certainly, he has to fear defeat!

Having only a spear taken from a goblin as a weapon, Artoria pressed herself among those who were seeking to obtain something for self-defense and recovered a tear-shaped shield bearing the three roses of Menevia, and a broadsword in its sheath.

Although armed, the girl was now even more worried. Like all the fugitives who ran from one shelter to another, she peered stealthily at the sky and ... a loud cry was heard from a wyvern, a crossbow had touched it. Seriously wounded, the winged snake fell right on her!

* * *

Artoria threw herself forward, made a roll then came to rest by hitting a door. Behind her a great shock preceded a rain of boards and broken tiles. Although slightly bruised, the apprentice knight rose quickly. She turned around to discover a collapsed house. From its debris emerged the wounded wyvern. Although one of its wings was broken and the blood maculated its breast, the monster was still fighting. Staring at the squire who had just drawn her sword, he threw himself forward.

**Prana Burst**! The blade swirled in the hands of the teenage girl, tracing bloody furrows on the scales of the dragon's cousin. The power she drew from her heart made Artoria faster and more agile than most men. She dodged two attacks one after the other, except that in the third... a wing blow threw her back. She had narrowly trimmed her shield. However, the wyvern was so powerful that her whole body encased. Staggering, the young woman felt the copper taste of blood in her mouth.

Her opponent had a pitiful appearance. His scales, stained with scarlet, were shattered. The winged beast could only bite into the void, dragging itself to the ground in search of his foe. Artoria struck the head twice to push the monster back and then her blade penetrated deep into the heart of the dragon's cousin. After a last cry, the beast collapsed like a mass.

The apprentice knight verified that she had no serious injury. Thanks to her natural healing abilities, the received scratches would close themselves. Wiping her blade, she put it back and tried to leave for the palace. The men who had witnessed the fight let her pass, stunned by the gallantness that had just been demonstrated by this pretty blonde teenager, dressed in a dirty blue shirt worn on a withered shirt.

Soldiers in silver jacque or gambeson, adorned with the armories of Menevia, advanced towards her. They had a variety of headdresses, most often Chapel-de-fer or salads, or even simple cervelliere. They were Freearchers (1) armed with crossbows, knit-piercing daggers and large bulwarks which they carried in the back, a bourgeois militia of the city. Their leader addressed the young woman:

\- Thank you for completing this monster. Can we help you? You seem... Lost!

His eyes are heavier on her dress. Five days sleeping in the woods... and especially the blood of the ogre killed in the battle of the Bjoulsae had made it a ruin.

\- I am Artoria Pendragon, a squire from the castle of Tournelle. Could you escort me to the palace? I must speak to the king. I have messages for him, including one from His Majesty's son, Prince Pélage.  
Although she was as dirty as a beggar, the natural authority of the King of the Knights remained intact. The young officer bowed:

\- Of course, lady Pendragon.

* * *

Wayrest, the City of White Marble Walls was one of the most glorious cities in the west of Tamriel. Its beauty was remarkable and its past made its luster. Its magnificent walls were certainly not of white marble contrary to what its nickname might have made it believe, but their whiteness impressed the newcomers. In addition, they were marked by tall towers with pepper roofs. The course of the river Bjoulsae bathed the foot of the walls, reinforcing the obstacle they represented in its eastern perimeter.  
The city surrounded by fortifications was divided into six districts: residential, temple, market, bank, palace, mage and port. The flourishing trade allowed the city's merchants to build large houses and beggars were scarce.

Wayrest's remarkable monuments included the Guild of the Magi, a large two-storey house with slate roofs. Next to it was the _Chironasium_, an enchantment workshop. The Cathedral of the Divine with its high bell tower could be seen at any point of the city. As for the king's castle, it was a great manor surrounded by its own walls.

* * *

The presence of the Freearchers allowed Artoria to pass through the gates of the palace. However, they could not take it any further. So she went on alone.

The place was plunged into chaos. Guards roamed the roofs, without respect for the red tiles. Bows in hand, they were shooting arrows at the vaults that were spinning in the sky.  
On the ground, couriers arrived on horseback and galloping, avoiding the servants, who seemed to run without reason, from one building to another. The entrance to the manor had been transformed into a dug-in camp. More than a hundred soldiers stood at the foot of the stairs, ready to repel a blow of force on the royal person. The doors, however, remained wide open, and messengers entered or left at every moment.

Artoria headed for the entrance but a robust sergeant accompanied by two men-at-arm intervened. They were Wayrest guards, wearing green hiccups and capes of the same color lined with fur, like the edge of their round helmet. With their hand on the pommel of their swords, they listened to him before calling Gayal, the captain of the palace garrison. She had to repeat her story to him.  
The young officer had tears in her eyes when she finished:

\- Follow me, we must warn the king.

In his wake, Artoria walked through the lounges and the sumptuous corridors of the Royal Palace. There, all was splendor and magnificence. Finally, they arrived at a door guarded by two knights wearing the armor of the Order of the Rose.

\- Wait right here!

* * *

The throne room was a large, very tall room whose walls were lined with colonnades. Under a huge banner alternating the flowers of lily and the three roses of Menevia, a flight of marches led to a checkerboard floor where one could see two thrones.

The one on the left was occupied by Eadwyre, a handsome old man with hair as white as his beard, the forehead girded with a golden crown. His wife, the black elf queen Barenzia, wore a tiara forming two wings on either side of her face. The crown, also of gold, was inlaid with several rubies of immense value.

Captain Gayal, wearing a better cut-out version of the green uniform of the Wayrest Guard, advanced to the foot of the steps leading to the throne. The old king saw him and ordered him to raise his head:

\- Your Majesty, I regret to bring bad news. A young woman has just introduced herself. She reports that Prince Pélage died defending the Bjoulsae Bridge five days ago. It also reports that the castle of Tournelle was taken and destroyed. The count of La Roche is said to be among the dead.  
The old king bent his head, crushed by the news. His beautiful wife, with dark grey skin, pointed ears and red eyes so typical of the Dunmers, took his hand and pressed it into her. In spite of their differences, their struggle against Jagarn Tharn, the usurper of the imperial throne had brought them closer and brought love to each other. Pélage being the son of Carolyna, Eadwyre's first wife, Barenzia was therefore far less affected than her husband. Once again, she was the king's strength:  
\- What is the name of this messenger?

\- Artoria Pendragon, Your Majesty. She claims to be an apprentice knight at the castle of Tournelle and the only survivor of the massacre of its inhabitants.

\- A squire?

The black elf queen frowned:

\- How old is she?

\- I... I don't know, Your Majesty... under sixteen, anyway.

\- And she crossed the enemy lines to Wayrest?

The question was purely rhetorical and Gayal simply acquiesced.

\- Do you believe her?

\- Yes, Your Majesty. When she speaks, her personality seems foreign to lying. And then, to tell you the truth, given the condition of his clothing, she could have crawled across Oblivion!

\- All right, take her to a bathroom and get her clothes to her size. Tell her she will be summoned when she has eaten and is presentable.

Barenzia turned to her husband. It would also give her husband time to overcome the shock of these catastrophic news.

* * *

A bath!

It was just hot water and soap!

Of course!

But in the final analysis, it was mostly the ultimate luxury that removed the civilized being from the filth of savagery. For a little, Saber would have forgotten her usual self-control to display a gaping smile unworthy of her. As a servant poured warm water to her to rinse her hair, she chipped.  
Straightening herself up in the wide wooden basin covered with fabric (to avoid splinters) she wrapped herself in the wonderful soft towel that was handed to her. Once dried, Saber dressed with the help of the girls who had taken care of her.

The clothes that had been prepared for him were not those of a peasant woman. On a shirt - an undergarment similar to a nightgown- and a shirt laced with grey fabric, she wore a blue dress with removable sleeves in white brocade embroidered with red flowers.

Once her hair gathered in a braid wrapped in the back of her head, Artoria felt perfectly ready for her next confrontation... In fact, she saw no other way her summons to the king. A battle where her tongue would be her sword.

* * *

Once again, guided by a servant, Saber crossed the long halls of the manor. Everywhere price furniture, weapons, tapestries and paintings captured the gaze. From far and wide, halberd guards doors or intersections. As usual, the majesty of the place was certain. Alas, the presence of couriers running on the red carpets or of officers in dented armor, soiled by the filth of the fighting, recalled the precarious situation of Wayrest.

Finally, they reached the high gates of the throne room. The chamberlain entered before her and struck the floor of his ceremonial halberd:

\- Artoria Pendragon of Tournelle.

The dignitary seemed almost embarrassed to have no title to add. It could not be said that it is common for individuals of low extraction to be brought in the presence of King Eadwyre of Menevia.  
In the throne room, knights still soiled by the fighting, mercenary chiefs with brilliant adornments, olds councilmen and perfumed courtesans fought around a map of the city where pawns were soldiers and riders. Most of them did not look up, eager to support their point of view. Only a few curious ones looked at the entrance... and forgot to breathe.

In an elegant step, head straight, with her eyes fixed before her, the most beautiful girl they had ever seen, walked on the thick carpet that led to the feet of the royal stage. With her hair like gold powder, her delicate and graceful silhouette, her pale skin, she was truly breathtaking beauty.  
Where they were waiting for a "peasant" and they met the nobility incarnate. There was no sign of shyness in her manner of treading the floor of the throne room.

Intrigued by those who had suddenly left the lively conversation around the map table, others looked up and found themselves magnetized in turn. The conversation went out, replaced by surprised whispers.  
This was the effect of the _Charisma skill_ at _rank B_.

King Eadwyre and Queen Barenzia were not the least surprised. While waiting for the girl, they had inquired about her. Certainly, Captain Gayal had said that she was beautiful and of great natural dignity. However, it was still a young man who was inevitably touched by the romanticism aroused by the arrival of a young heroine in these dark hours. Faced with the pure young girl who was advancing towards them, the royal couple had some trouble imagining her knocking down a wyvern, as the Freearchers who brought her to the palace reported.

Arriving at the feet of the steps, Saber surprised all those present by kneeling one hand on the heart... like a knight! When she should have bowled... as the Chamberlain had shown her.

\- Your Majesty, I, Artoria Pendragon, squire at the castle of Tournelle, answer your summons. What are your orders, Eadwyre, my sovereign?

The voice as soft as silk but as firm as steel resounded clearly throughout the room.

Despite his sadness, the king smiled:

\- Damsel Pendragon, your lord thanks you for your loyalty. We want to know how you met my noble son and if it is true that he is... dead.

Artoria bowed down. For the third time since her arrival at the palace, she recounted her epic, the destruction of Tournelle, the meeting with Rin Tohsaka - she showed the letter that the Magus was to bring to the Count of La Roche. Finally Saber comes to what she had seen from the battle of the Bjoulsae.  
\- Your Majesty, I was powerless to save Prince Pélage. I cannot make amends for my failure, and please hold me responsible.

Queen Barenzia raised her hand:

\- No, Damsel Pendragon. My husband cannot hold you against not having saved His Royal Highness where an army failed before you. Lift up your head, there can be no question of punishing you, we would rather reward you for the risks you took in coming to inform us of the death of the noble son of our royal husband.

There was silence and Barenzia had to repeat to Artoria to raise her head so that she could finally do it. Eadwyre then intervened:

\- Has Prince Pélage entrusted you with a few last words to communicate to us?

\- Certainly, Your Majesty. He asked me to report his defeat to you and...

The teenager girl could not completely conceal the violent emotions that passed through her. Like an echo, she heard Shiro's voice, angry, while he reproached the Knights of the Round Table for never daring to contradict her: "Isn't the role of a subject also to tell his king that he is wrong? Is not as much an expression of his loyalty as avoiding the mistakes that could condemn his kingdom?" The situation was reversed. Now it was up to her to talk, but the truth was in her throat. Saber suddenly understood why his knights remained silent... until the revolt. "Oh, Mordred, Lancelot, Tristan, pardon!" she murmured in herself.

Barenzia's sweet voice cut on her torments:

\- Damsel Pendragon, if there are some harsh words that you have to say to us, we will not confuse the messenger with the content of the message.

\- Madam, I thank you for your kind words, but that is not the point.

Saber sighed and turned to Eadwyre:

\- Your Majesty, your son's last words were simply to advise you to lock yourself up behind the walls of Wayrest and accept its siege. Nevertheless... I beseech you not to take this advice, my king!  
The young girl's vehemence surprised the old monarch, but Artoria continued:

\- Perhaps my words go far beyond my condition, and I am prepared to answer for them in the manner that Your Majesty wishes. However, I am not speaking out of disrespect, but out of a desire to fulfill my duty as the subject of the King of Menevia. If you abandon the campaign to the enemy, you will only hide behind the walls of Wayrest to die!

Although the courtesans whisper to each other, sometimes in an angry tone, Eadwyre seemed more surprised than anything else:

\- Why this? Why would hiding behind the walls of Wayrest lead to our fall?

\- Sire, a siege is a conflict of attrition. The one who can obtain the best supply and renew his forces wins. If we abandon the campaign to the enemy, he will be free to draw from it at will. Conversely, by keeping forces outside the walls, we can ambush his convoys and foragers, starve him, and exhaust him. Even more, in the face of such a powerful enemy, it is boasting of vain fantasies to want to engage all his army in one point in the hope of winning a "decisive battle". To resort to the test of strength in the face of an enemy more powerful than oneself is to play one's game. He would easily counter us with his numerical superiority and we would only offer him victory. Our only option is to... prolong the conflict. Stay alive until the reinforcement of other kingdoms or the Emperor reaches us. Thus, by dispersing the enemy between several areas of resistance, we prevent it from counteracting us at one point and crashing into it at one time.

The explanation caused a shock among the courtesans. Some mercenary leaders and captains of great renown approved vigorously because they had supported similar positions against the councilors and caudate especially eager to regroup in town the maximum number of soldiers for protect them... forgive me, protect the king.

\- Brilliant!

Surprise, Artoria looked at Queen Barenzia clapping.

\- My husband, I urge you to heed this distinguished opinion.

The king stood up and asked for the sword of the knight who stood on guard beside the throne, and then began to go down the steps:

\- Surprising that someone so young has such knowledge of the art of war. Damsel Pendragon, have you had any good teachers?

\- The best, Your Majesty.

Ector, Merlin, Bedivere... and, with Shiro's behavior against Berserker and Rider, an excellent example of what not to do.

\- Lady Pendragon, do you swear to always follow the teachings of the divine and to believe in their commandment?

\- I swear to the Aedra.

\- Lady Pendragon, do you swear to defend the worship of the Nine Divines?

\- I swear to the Aedra.

Eadwyre enumerated other oaths: the respect of the weak whose protection she had to be; the love of Menevia, the country where she was born; that she should never flee before the enemy; that she had to fight fiercely against the enemies of the Nine; that she had to fulfill her feudal duties as long as they did not oppose the commandments of the Divines; that she should never lie and always remain faithful to her word; that she should be generous; and that she should always be the champion of right and good against injustice and evil. Each time she swore, gradually understanding where this improvised ceremony led her.

\- Then, Lady Artoria Pendragon, we recognize you as a Knight of the Order of the Rose and - as Grand Master - we accept you within it.

The sword struck each shoulder and then landed on the top of her head.

\- Stand up Lady Artoria Pendragon, Knight of the Rose.

As she obeyed, he will be against her twice before turning to the courtesans:

\- I recognize her as my sister. Together we will walk into the darkness of the valley of death.

The others resumed this sentence in chorus before ending with a triple hurrah.

* * *

The next three days were fertile in clashes. The king had placed Artoria at the head of about twenty men, a mixture of peasants equipped with surplus army or agricultural tools, supervised by a few armed men and archers. Commanded by Saber, they won several skirmishes and even took part in two more important battles.

The first of them opposed a force led by a lord of Menevia, a few hundred men, including knights, men of arms and archers to a smaller group of forest goblins. They included spider riders, wolves, archers and spearmen. Their weapons were of poor quality and their armor consisted of bones.  
The battle lasted only a few minutes, the charge of the knights breaking the heart of the enemy device before the mounted archers and infantrymen cut into pieces the rest of the howling pack.  
In the second fight, King Eadwyre himself led the charge against an ambushed supply convoy. The barbarian mercenaries supported by a minotaur, defended themselves valiantly, however the Bretons knights were more numerous and enjoyed the advantage of surprise. After a brief and violent battle, they tore apart the invaders. Artoria was particularly impressed by the sight of the bull-headed monster, dead but held upright by the ten cavalry spears that pierced him.  
Nevertheless, most often the small troupe of Artoria operated alone. They had to sneak between the invaders' patrols, mount ambushes... and run, pursued by the enemies. The plain of Bjoulsae was swarming with enemies attacking the villages, besieging the forts and castles.  
On the ninth day of the invasion, 3 Sun's Height, the orcs had taken all the localities of the Bjoulsae plain with the exception of Wayrest.

* * *

(1) The Freearchers are militiamen raised from the bourgeois population, rich enough to buy weapons and armor. They practice every sundas (Tamriel's Sunday of the week). The term "free" here means that they do not belong to a seigniorial army but are recruited by the cities. As for "archer", it is confusing because, nine times out of ten, these militiamen fight with the crossbow, a precise and powerful weapon that does not require as much training as the bow.

* * *

**Author note: Although moderately pleased with the translation, I hope to receive help from those of you who know ancient English. I tried to give a medieval twist to the dialogues, but my knowledge of English is not enough for that.**


	6. Chapter 6 The Siege (2)

**Again, a little medieval vocabulary.**

**A couillard is a sort of conterweight machine, that is to say a siege machine based on the principle of the sling. He owes his name ("couille", purse in old french) to the fact that his pendulum is made of two large bags filled with stones. This allows you to quickly change the weight of the counterweight which controls the range of the weapon. In the trebuchet family it is a relatively weak weapon, but this is compensated by its small size, and its speed of shooting. It is generally used on the ramparts of fortified cities.**

**A Châtelet is literally a small castle. The term does not refer to an independent building, but to a fortification built around a door to ensure its protection. The Châtelet district in Paris is located at one of the city's gates and was used as a prison. Rental prices were very low in the Châtelet district because of the "chamber of hypocras" the torture room it housed.**

**Circumvallation and Contravallation, these are two terms that come under the art of Poliorcétique, that is to say the fact of leading the siege of strongholds, castles and cities. A circumvallation is a network of trenches (or palisades) that surround a city and allow the besieged to protect themselves from the gunfire of the besieged. The contravallation is a larger circle, facing outward and intended to prevent a relief army from raising a seat. The best known example of this double device is the one created by Julius Caesar in Alesia.**

* * *

**The Siege**

**(Second part)**

The entire population of the city seemed to have gathered at the gates. In spite of his escort, and his coat of mail - a gift from the king- Artoria had all the trouble to reach the staircase that led to the walls of the châtelet built on the entrance.

The new Chevalier de la Rose joined Captain Hauteclaire, sheltered from the merlons. The latter was arguing with one of his subordinates, obviously this veteran was appalled:

\- It is madness to try an exit, especially with militiamen. Half of them have lived too many winters or not enough. They will be slaughtered, and for nothing!

Hauteclaire took great pains to see his orders criticized. About to respond vigorously, the officer was overtaken by Artoria Pendragon:

\- Captain, what makes you think an attack on enemy lines would be appropriate?  
The officer showed contempt for the goblins who were busy in the plain digging trenches and raising barricades:  
\- The enemy is weak and the orcs are only stupid barbarians.

Artoria simply nodded:

\- Forgive my impudence, captain; we have just suffered three defeats against this "weak" enemy. If we attack again without learning anything from our previous failures, does that not make us "stupid barbarians"?  
Hauteclaire is bluish.

\- The important thing is not to inflict heavy losses on the enemy. It is simply to delay the assault on the walls. Time is on our side, winning will win this battle. In the King's Counsel, did you not press for the enemy to be attacked before he finished raising his defenses?

\- Certainly, captain. But I have never spoken of a _frontal assault_ with _inexperienced militiamen_ against an enemy in _large numbers_.

Artoria's beautiful face displayed an expression of cold anger, and she conveyed some truths in the same tone as another would have said "fool".

\- His Majesty has appointed me to lead this counter-attack, Lady Pendragon. You have your orders.  
And to signify that the debate was closed, the captain turned around to distribute his instructions to the crossbowmen who were taking positions around them. On the right, with an impressive squeak, a couillard installed on a fort threw a projectile covered with pitch. Describing a burning parable, the ball descended amidst mounted regiments of Reachmen in fur armor.

A rain of arrows rose in response. The strokes slammed into the battlements, leaving few victims. In return, the tiles drawn from the slats of the towers and the roundway struck the goblins, which dispersed.

Escorted by the captain's soldiers, Saber joined the inner courtyard of the châtelet. Around her, the militiamen were finishing preparing.

\- Close the interior doors.

The clattering of the iron-clad boasters sealing the entrance to the city caused the peasants to shudder as they gazed around them like hunted beasts. Already the young female knight gave the following order:

\- Lower the drawbridge!

The troop, mixing military and civilian, the latter often without armor, armed with mismatched military surplus, shook with cries intended to support their failing morale.

* * *

The veteran was right. It was not a battle, at most a one-sided massacre. Despite the support offered by the crossbowmen and couillard stationed on the ramparts, the militiamen were greeted by a flock of arrows as dense as a brick wall. The first rows collapsed riddled with projectiles. The men who followed wanted to retreat but, pushed by the combatants who continued to come out of the castle, stumbled on the corpses and arrows planted in the drawbridge. Already the goblins' bowmen sent a new deadly cloud to the sky. The rain of the arrows with raven feathers fell, fall back among the militiamen whom they disorganized, taking lives by the dozen, sowing terror.  
Half of the men had fallen before the regiment arrived in the free plain. At that time, the goblins charged. In the front row of the defenders, Artoria mowed down a humanoid as he threw himself at her, blowing his head off his shoulders in a splash of blood. A second opponent raised his shield of wooden boards handling without great talent a wicked iron cleaver. Saber paring, exchanging some blows, then gave a violent shield bash. The small green humanoid was struck in the face, the nose reduced to mush. Blinded by tears, he left an opening in his defense... and collapsed his heart pierced by the sword wielded by the female knight.

Around her, the battle had degenerated into a brutal melee. The Wayrest's militiamen were fighting desperately against a tide of goblins that were crowding around them, attacking from all sides. Dead and dying cluttered the ground. Even worse, an ogre advanced among the enemy ranks. The primitive monster handled a Morgenstern as big as a young tree. The ogre crushed a first militiaman as if he was a gnat and then and carelessly mowed down an enemy with a lapel of his club who ran toward him.

In the middle of the melee, twisting his horse between three orcs in orichalcum armor, Hauteclaire nevertheless saw the threat arrive:

\- We must stop this monster, otherwise we are lost.

The officer was right. Normally, goblins were loose. However, they reacted strongly to the presence of a powerful leader. In fact... when they were more afraid of the latter than of their enemies, they fought fiercely.

**Prana Burst**!

Artoria ran forward. The two opponents found themselves face to face. On one side, a huge and musculous ogre, dressed in dirty furs and wielding a club covered with a point. On the other side, a frail young girl, half his size, clothed in chainmail under the silver hoqueton with the coat of arms of Menevia. Her hair was hidden by the camail and chapel-de-fer that covered her head. Only her face appeared and her beautiful emerald eyes fixed the all-black ones of the monster.

The girl pressed her teeth. Unlike the one she had previously faced, this ogre was unharmed. His chances of winning were low. Except...

Slowly she stretched out her sword, pointed to the earth, and then a deaf and deep cry rose slowly from her lips. Around her, the wind began to force, wrapping itself around her figure and making the fabric clasp around her legs. The blade she was wielding disappeared... the **Barrier of the Wind King** distorting the view and make it invisible.

Suddenly, she leaps forward. The acceleration produced by both the **Prana Burst** and the decrease in air pressure caused by the **Sword of the Wind King** allowed Saber to materialize directly in front of her astonished opponent and to open a deep wound from top to bottom.

Seriously wounded, the humanoid was not dead. He responded, striking in the void several times. Faster, Artoria dodged and retaliated, harassing him from multiple clear-cutting. However, the dragon core in her chest was not yet mature and such sustained use caused her to tug with pain. Suddenly, she felt a violent blow to her chest. The world turned red and split. Saber stumbled and her face shriveled, dripping with sweat.

The ogre did not let his chance pass. His weapon mowed Artoria laterally. She had only time to raise her shield to stop the blow. The protection disintegrated, throwing fragments of wood in all directions, while the Morgenstern struck her at the hip. There was a dry noise. Lifted from the ground, the girl fell a few meters further before rolling several times on herself.  
Saber straightened herself painfully, unable to lean on her left leg. The sword had reappeared in his hand.

The ogre hurried forward, but once again the tiny knight swept aside; her blade fell to the back of the ankle... cutting Achilles' tendons. The monster felt his leg slip away and fell on one knee. Before he could dodge a move, a point of steel pushed with two hands sank through his mouth, through his palate, to pierce his brain!

The death of the big guy had an immediate effect; the goblins became elated by shouting with terror, receding away from the defenders of the gate. Nevertheless, more than half of the Bretons had already perished and other enemies were converging on them.

The captain raised his sword towards the city walls:

\- Let us withdraw while we still can.

Healthy change of heart but, alas, late.

Willfully in the tail of the survivors, Artoria endeavored to help the latecomers who were trying to escape annihilation. Among them, the young knight recognized the veteran who had advised against leaving. Covered with wounds, he staggered. When a Reachman rider charged, Artoria stepped in, raising a shield seized on a dead person. She deflected the blade and then from her sword pierced the enemy in the groin. He fell into a big cry. The veteran was not saved for that reason. Two others horsemen passed Artoria, and cut down the wounded man with their blades of bones incrusted with teeth. When one of them bent down to pick up the beheaded head, a red fury took possession of the King of the Knights. The barbarians perished in an instant. Goblins succeeded them. Poised with scarlet to the shoulder, Artoria destroyed about ten of them before a group of soldiers came out of the châtelet to grab her and draw her by force inside the ramparts.

Garments ragged, covered with her blood and that of her enemies, the young knight climbed the staircase of the ramparts. From the battlements, she was able to watch the battlefield. The postern having slammed in front of them, the goblins were now retreating with squeaking of spite. The ground was littered with dead people... but it was mostly those of the militia.  
Suddenly emptied of all strength, the girl sat down on the way round, her face transformed into a marble mask. As Captain Hauteclaire passed in front of her, Artoria asked him what the situation was. The officer made a gesture of frustration:

\- Goblins fall out of reach of our crossbows. We have lost a thousand men and them... three hundred or four hundred. We showed that we could not attack their positions and therefore they did not need to strengthen them.

A few days passed, allowing Saber's self-healing talents to close her wounds. Her demonstration of power during the clash of the gates had earned her increased respect on the part of both the lords and the simple combatants.

However, the failure of the assault mounted by captain Hauteclaire had made King Eadwyre's officers fearful. The majority opinion was now to stay behind the walls and not go out... which doomed the city to term.

* * *

The 6 Sun's height, at last, the orcs rose to the assault.

The couillard's arm, brutally released, propelling a ball of stone covered with pitch. The projectile described an ardent arch before striking a siege tower that was being pushed towards the ramparts. The wooden building collapsed in a rain of broken boards and flames.

Closer to the ramparts, wheeled shields were used as a shelter for archers who were shooting at the battlements, entering into a duel with the crossbowmen that were there. From time to time there was a cry coming up from the round path. Nevertheless, the ground in front of the moat was littered with dead goblins, pierced with tiles.

Between the two towers flanking the door, about ten bearded men, in silk dress, wearing hoods or pointed hats leaned on heavy sticks. One of them held out his hands. An electric arc brought them together, making a sphere of blue light grow between them. Suddenly, the mage released a lightning discharge in the direction of the ram which was advancing towards the drawbridge. The goblins all perished, struck by lightning. Which, passing from one to the other, electrocuted them cleanly.  
Two minotaurs cross the carnage site, advancing to the moat filled with fascines before starting to chop on the door with theirs axes. Above them, two circular holes spat out a black and oily liquid that splashed them. The next moment, a hand threw them a clay pot where a wick burned. The fire then ignited was like an explosion that ignited the crude oil. The two bullmen struggled for a moment in the flames, blackened and collapsed.

At the price of a thousand difficulties, riddled with tiles and inflammatory projectiles, leaving behind a wake of dead, a siege tower reached the walls of Wayrest. The drawbridge fell on the merlons. Immediately, a compact block of orcs advanced shields against shields. They collided with knights of the Lily in plain armor, handling two hands swords, while they were shot from all nearby towers and bodies fell into the void screaming.

The assault was contained... although with difficulty. However, two wise men arrived. The first summoned a Daedroth, a creature of Oblivion resembling an armored lizard with a crocodile head. Raising a hand, the monster cast a spell on the pressed ranks of the orcs who continued to advance on the drawbridge, immediately green and mephitic vapors enveloped the humanoids. Poisoned, they suffocated and perished as the humanoid lizard materialized a two-handed axe that was immediately put in use to split skulls and chests.

Meanwhile, the second mage formed a fireball and threw it into the rolling tower, carbonizing the orcs present. The flames were communicated to the wood structure which soon burned like a torch.  
Everywhere, the assault on the walls of Wayrest turned to debacle.

* * *

Captain Gayal summed up the day's fighting:  
\- If our enemies continue to attack so foolishly, our victory is assured. Nevertheless, the enemy builds mangonel and trebuchets in his camp. Once these siege machines are complete, they will be able to pound the rampart walk or destroy the towers.  
King Eadwyre shook his head:  
\- I doubt it, captain. The walls are eight meters thick.  
Captain Hauteclaire sighed:  
\- Remember that orcs are exceptional miners. They could very well tunnel under our walls.  
\- In this case, let's put basins of water near the fortifications. If wrinkles appear on the surface, it's because someone is digging underneath. Then we can start a countermine and attack them in their tunnel.  
The King's remark showed that he knew well the art of siege and its thousand tricks. Gayal said again:  
\- However, these defensive measures do not solve the root of the problem. We must counter-attack.  
Eadwyre stroked his beard:  
\- Yes, but the previous attempt turned into a catastrophe.  
\- Let us hear Lady Pendragon explain her plan.  
All the men present turned to the only woman present, in addition to Queen Barenzia. Despite her small size and slender silhouette, she wore the hauberk effortlessly. Her oval face with fine features was framed with blond hair dominated by an ahoge. A braid wrapped in the back of her head was held in place by a blue ribbon. However, what were most noticeable were her green and bright eyes, so far slightly pleated.  
\- Gentlemen, I am not proposing a frontal attack. The port is still in our hands and we have ships. I propose to disembark troops at night, outside the perimeter of our foes retrenchment. Our enemies are too confident. They didn't build contravallations to defend their camps against an attack from the outside. Then...  
Saber explained for several minutes, making impression to all the lords. Finally, the king gave permission to apply her tactic.

* * *

In the sky, the dark clouds only let guess a few stars that appeared between the tears of the heavenly mists. The moons of the world of Nirn could only be discerned by a vague clarity. At that moment, a blue-white zigzag was unloaded on the background of the sky. Ephemeral, the lightning revealed the woods between shadow and light along the Bjoulsae and... a carrack that lightened his human cargo. Thunder raised anxious eyes. Enemy sentries should not be more attentive than they should be.  
The men of arms inconvenienced by the storm pressed the pace. The Bretons were lightly armed, little equipped. They had quickly decamped. The boat then retreated to the other side, all lanterns extinguished.  
As the troop entered under the fronds, a second lightning bolt swept through the dark firmament. The bronze gong of thunder echoed endlessly in the countryside returned to darkness. Before the first drops of a rain which soon began to fall heavily on the earth.  
Whispering to pass on her orders, Knight Artoria Pendragon watched her strange "army". Thirteen-year-olds, fat shopkeepers, even... mothers. These were ordinary people who had only been given a few passes of arms with the remnants of the army's deposits which fitted them.  
Saber put her hand on the shoulder of a teenager wearing a helmet too big for him and a cutting knife.  
\- Save your breath and stay with the other members of your platoon. Don't forget your training! You have to surround an enemy and isolate him!  
In the darkness, the knight-woman saw the young man's teeth glow. No doubt it was the adventure that this kid had always dreamed of. Times of war suddenly turn games with wooden swords into more sinister things. The former king of Brittany did not have the heart to be the one to break his illusions; this kid would soon understand the difference.  
In the rain, now beating, they took refuge in the woods.  
At only two kilometers, after the last tree, the enemy camp began. By that dark night, only tents were seen in the fields and some log palisades insulated officers' quarters. The wind was shaking their soggy banners. The invaders were taking shelter. Well, the surprise effect would be complete. Only a few hours remained before dawn. Despite the rain and the storm, the Bretons were patiently. They were not alone; other similar groups had landed under the cover of night, encircling enemy positions. At sunrise, they would launch a simultaneous assault.  
There was still time... fortunately, because the attack required serious preparation.

* * *

With the morning, the rain had subsided. The grey clouds even opened to let the first rays of the rising turn the Bjoulsae into a glittering mirror. Saber was confident. Her fighting instinct told her that the enemy was not waiting for them, the surprise would be total.  
The teenager saddled up and drew her sword from the scabbard, the steel sparked scarlet, mingling with the bloody glow of dawn.  
Around their leader, the outstretched militiamen shook their mismatched weapons with all the attention that was usually given to a beloved friend." Forward!" The cry had barely left the lips of the King of the Knights that horns of war and trumpets resounded on all sides.  
So the general assault sounded.  
The troops coming out of the woods were correctly situating their objectives. The reconnaissance of the last few days had at least served this purpose. The knights mounted on their caped steeds, still held their spears adorned with scarlet pennons vertically, each helmet carried a crest decorated, often the head of a fantastic creature. Their armor was sparkling. Around them were infantrymen: archers, crossbowmen, halberds, men of arms, guards of Wayrest.  
Saber's sword shattered the head of the first orc to stand in her way. Her mount, a trained war horse, threw his mace forward as one would throw a ram against ramparts. The madness closed around the knight. Goblins and men pressed around her. Cemeteries threatened her throat, throwing sparks as they hit her shield. Splashed with blood, Saber retaliated, erasing the hateful faces that swirled around her.  
As her men joined her, widening the gap in enemy ranks, Artoria saw a great barbarian throw down a knight. More by instinct than by reflection, she charged, sinking her blade into the enemy's heart. Although wounded, the knight stood up to thank Saber. Unfortunately, he was not destined to survive this battle. Two arrows shot each other in his back, causing him to swirl on himself before collapsing into the mud.  
Saber's fighting instinct had once again saved her. Her steed had leaped aside, responding to the movements of her knees and several projectiles passed by without touching her. Other traits fell among the Bretons, inflicting rapidly increasing losses. Searching beyond the fray, Artoria discovered a frieze of archers just on the other side of a thin cord of Reachmen. She tied her horse and snatched in the movement a wounded warrior who tried to interfere.

Saber then felt a shock in her back as an iron fist closed on her shoulders. It was only when she saw the ground running between her legs that she realized that she had just been torn from her mount. Looking up, she discovered the powerful chest of a wyvern! The giant winged reptile had her in one of its claws... but it was not the worst. Usually, these monsters would release their prey up high and send them to smash on the ground...  
The young girl took her sword between her teeth and drew her dagger... which she planted in the long neck of the wyvern. Howling with pain, the dragon's cousin let Artoria loose, who immediately found herself subjected to gravity, falling heavily! Normally, she should have perished... but the gods watched over Saber. By the time she was released, a second wyvern passed just below the first. Artoria fell directly on his back! By reflex, she grabbed on to the harness, and climbed up to the strength of the arms to get up behind the rider.  
The orc in the saddle behind the monster's head only discovered her at that moment. He drew a dagger and turned around, but his involuntary passenger retrieved her sword and pierced her foe. Taking control of the creature, she diverted it from its path to land on the ground in front of the doors and then cut off its head with sword. Her arrival had terrified some crossbowmen who got excited. However, as Menevia's soldiers were converging on her, Artoria was recognized.  
It was about 30 steps from the gates of Wayrest. In accordance with the battle plan, a mass exit had begun at the first light of day, doubling that of the disembarked troops. All around the knight, regiments moved forward and maneuvered. Their shooters sent rains of tiles to the bulk of the enemy formation.

The King of the Knights had a strangely numb mind. The closest soldiers spoke to her with a restless face. However, their words dissolved into loud noises. She took a few more steps and then a sudden dizziness seized her. As the world revolved around her, Artoria found herself on all fours in the damp mud, she saw her hands in the grass and... the blood dripping along her left arm...  
Ah... so that was it? The wyvern didn't "grab" and pull her off the ground. He had plunged his claws into her chest. The young woman had not noticed either the pain or the hemorrhage, focused on her immediate survival, however...  
A black hole absorbed what little energy she had left and Saber collapsed face down.


	7. Chapter 7 The Siege (End)

**The Siege**

**(End)**

The first impression of Artoria, when she woke up, was thats he was beaten with a blacksmith's hammer. She opened her eyes heavily. The blinding brightness of the day twisted her brain and she closed her eyelids by clenching her teeth. As brief and painful as her glance was, she had learned that she was lying on a bed.

As we pressed something damp on her forehead, she forced herself to look again. The knight woman then discovered a face leaning over her... Rin Tohsaka. The young Magus had a thin smile:  
\- Ah... you're finally awake.

Despite the reassuring note she felt in the voice of Archer's former Master, Rin managed to make it sound like a reproach addressed to a slacker.

\- Rin? What happened?

By reflex, Saber tried to straighten herself out. However, her nurse pushed her back with one hand, as if she were just a child.

\- You were injured in a battle the day before yesterday.

\- What are you doing here?

Rin pointed her finger right under Artoria's nose:

\- And what do you think I'm doing, Saber? I'm treating you.

The adolescent girl in a red dress crossed her arms on her chest and turned her head aside, the lively movement made her pigtails weave:

\- And you better thank me.

A slight smile played on Artoria's lips... Already during the Grail War, Rin was taking care of Shiro's wounds. Since he had Avalon in him, it didn't serve much... but it was her way of showing tenderness and attention. Rin had lost her parents early and had been raised by this monster of Kirei Kotomine. Magus had not learned to show affection to others. Shiro had used a term to define it... ah, yes... tsundere. A hard-sweet.

\- Thank you Rin.

Always turned aside, the Magus seemed not to have heard, but a suspicious redness appeared on his cheeks:

-It-it-it-it-it's normal to help your allies. And I'm the best trainer here.

\- How did you get here?

She shrugged her shoulders:

\- The siege does not prevent the teleporters of the Guild of the Magi from operating.  
Artoria nodded, holding a grimace of pain as she moved her left arm. Realizing this, Rin scolded her, telling her to lie down. She then began to describe her injuries... and the list turned out to be long. Saber, however, was alarmed by everything else:

\- You told me you lived in Torrent? I saw a column of smoke rising from the city. I thought the orcs had taken it.

\- Oh, they tried.

Busy unpacking her shoulder, Rin didn't seem to want to say any more. Artoria, however, insisted. Her friend squished her eyes, masking her mouth with one hand, while displaying a perfectly evil expression:

\- That intrigues you, Saber.

And the knight nodded:

\- I admit it. We have had such difficulties here.

While working to heal her wounds, Tohsaka began to recount the assault of the Orcs on Torrent.

* * *

Murguk gro-Mudig commanded an army of several thousand fighters, half of them orcs. His fellow men, larger than humans, more heavily structured had green skin, brutal features with apparent canines that gave them a swine appearance. For millennia, there was a mutual hatred between them and the Bretons. The orcs said that they once lived in a peaceful and tolerant society, welcoming the reprobates of all species... until the inhabitants of Hight-rock stormed their capital of Orsinium and razed it. The Bretons claimed that the Orcs had always been aggressive and that they had only retaliated against their attacks.

The truth? Long forgotten and who cared, anyway? Both races repeated an inexpressible hatred that frequently led to the worst outbursts of genocidal fury. The current assault on Menevia is nothing more than a revenge taken - centuries after the events- on the atrocities committed during the fall of Orsinium.

The Brétons saw the orcs as uncultivated savages.

Past racist prejudice, it had to be recognized that their tribal society was ignorant of writing and governed by the grip of the strongest. Each tribe had its leader who ruled until it fell under the blade of a suitor... often one of its own sons. The law boiled down to the "Malakath's code" which would only have required one page to be laid on the scroll. The tribal leader was the only male to have the right to reproduce, so all the young were the children of the women of his harem. The other males were warriors or hunters. The females also hunted or looked after the forge. Only they became "learned woman", that is to say shaman, creators of poisons and drugs that increased the effectiveness of the combatants. However, all worked in the mines.

Apart from their savagery in combat, and their courage, the orcs impressed other races only by their knowledge of the art of forging. They were the only ones who knew how to properly work a green ore called "orichalcum". They made weapons and armor much stronger than steel.  
Well aware of the strength of his people, and of the numerical superiority of his horde, Murguk gro-Mudig believed that the small town of Torrent, built on the east bank of the Bjoulsae, would offer him an easy victory and a consequent spoil.

He was wrong about that.

The orcs moved forward, carrying siege ladders, between each attendant stood a warrior raising a large shield. Archers formed the first line, shooting towards the ramparts of Torrent.

Suddenly, an arrow seeming to be made of silver light was pulled towards the sky... the singular projectile multiplied by falling back.

Stunned, Murguk gro-Mudig saw an entire block of his warriors collapse to the ground... not a shot had missed his target, all proved deadly. Worse, the silver projectiles immediately began to dissolve into blue particles.

\- Siege shields!

The order of the tribal leader was immediately followed by his execution. Mounted on a wheel, these mantlets were used to protect the advance of the warriors. No arrow could pass through their thick oak planks.

At the top of a tower of the castle of Torrent, a hooded figure had a sardonic smile.  
The instant after a projectile shattered the first mantlet. Murguk gro-Mudig saw an orc tear off the ground and fall down five meters further, its armor sunk. The chief's eyes almost came out of his head. The arrow that had just killed him looked like... a sword! As if a madman had forged anew a blade to shoot it on a bow! Dementia, nobody...

Another orc perishes, crossed by a sword. Then another... and another. The mysterious attacker didn't care what he was doing was supposed to be impossible. He drew one of his "sword arrows" after the other and each shot proved to be deadly.

The orcs retreated, leaving nearly a hundred dead after only a few minutes of assault.  
They returned a few hours later, pushing in front of them a siege tower.

The watchman wrapped in a red cape was the first to discover this new threat. He held out a hand and a big black bow materialized there. A red flame grows in its palm, letting appear a... sword? If you can call it that, a weapon whose blade looked like a screw step. He encoded it and stretched the rope. The sword changed strangely, lengthening and thinning, while impressive light effects shone around the character in a red cape:

\- Caladbolg!

A supersonic bang was heard as the **Fake Spiral Sword** launched, falling down to the ground like a meteor. An instant later, it hit the mobile tower. The world faded into a sphere of fire that dazzled anyone who looked in its direction. When they were able to open their eyes again, it was to discover a huge crater still plagued by flames, stones still fell around.

The orcs who survived the attack were wandering in all directions, fleeing from the thick column of smoke that was rising to the sky.

* * *

Saber opened her eyes wide:

\- Archer! So... the Servant you met...

Rin nodded her head:

\- He came to Torrent when I was eight years old. My parents - those of this world- had just died in an accident and an uncle wanted to adopt me to get hold of the family fortune. And... Archer came to demonstrate the wrongdoing of the uncle in question.

The Magus had a softened smile, rather unusual.

\- He stood there with his usual smirk, refusing to explain to me how he found me or why he was helping me. Five minutes after she arrived, I already wanted to strangle her...

Saber shook her head with an amused expression:

\- I see...

Indeed, the King of the Knights had no trouble imagining the scene. Archer could be so arrogant that even she would grind her teeth in his presence. However, he had shown qualities of fighters that had impressed her during the Fourth Grail War. Didn't he kill Berserker six times (1) during his fight against him? His sacrifice had saved his Master, Shiro and her, allowing them to find a method for... a little red appeared on Saber's cheeks... to renew her energy connection with her own Master. Otherwise, they would have all perished in the Einzbern forest.

Hes friend's sudden redness had not escaped Rin... contrary to her reasons.

\- You still have a fever and I'm talking to you...

Without listening to Saber's protests, Tohsaka forced her back into her pillows; ordering her to rest in an unanswered tone. The extent of her weakness was such that the King of the Knights ceased to struggle. The pain drove away all conscious thought and fell back into a heavy sleep.

* * *

With her eyes closed, caught in the world of dreams, Saber relived the frightening moment when she had freed herself from the wyvern, falling from the sky. Time went by in slow motion. She could see beneath her all the fury of the battle.

She could see a knight mentor wearing a blue and red tabard adorned with the symbol of the god Julianos on his armor. With the stroke of his war hammer, he crushed a goblin before collapsing, pierced in the back by a barbarian armed with a spear.

A battle among others, from her position between heaven and hell, scenes of carnages, dead and dying spread in all directions. She was falling... she should fall! Yet, Artoria remained suspended to watch the atrocious reality of battle.

A golden light made her turn her head.

A gigantic statue had appeared on the battlefield without any of the fighters seems to see it except Saber. It represented a woman, arms wide apart, eyes closed, a veil covered her hair and her beautiful face expressed kindness and sadness.

A voice echoed in Artoria's mind:

\- _All this... all this has never been written in the eternal lines of destiny. The Scrolls of the Ancients have never evoked this battle. This siege never took place... the time was changed, Arthur Pendragon king of Britain or should I say Servant Saber?_

\- Who are you?

_\- The one who must guide you, O King of the Knights. My name is Mara, goddess of compassion and I weep for the destiny of mortals. There is no such thing as this cursed war. It is not written in the events of time... yet... yet... you see, mortals die in this conflict that does not exist. And why is that?  
_Caught in the dream, Saber could not concentrate. She knew who the cause of all this was... yet the name burned her lips without her being able to pronounce it.

\- _The person responsible is Angra Mainyu, the evil that filled the Fuyuki Grail. The reckless vows that you and your Master made at the end of the Grail War are the cause of my children's suffering._  
Artoria strangled. Once again, her decisions had precipitated an entire people into the chaos of war. Overwhelmed, she wanted to speak, to ask forgiveness, to implore the help of the goddess so that she would allow her to make amends for her sin. But Saber remained powerless. She could only watch Mara standing in the midst of the atrocious battle.

Yet the goddess seemed conscious of the course of her thoughts because she replied:  
\- _You are not the first to be manipulated by evil. This is its greatest power, to use pure souls, righteous hearts to sow the seeds of discord. I need you very much, King Arthur. The Aedras are powerful. We created this world; we protect the life of all who have been begotten there. Yet we belong to this world. This limits our influence in the face of what is foreign to it. Like Angra Mainyu. But you... you and your Master... you are also strangers. More than anything else you are the cause of what is happening. What you did, you can undo._

In the hands of the goddess appeared the image of a two handed sword. A golden brightness shone at it pommel as on it crescent guard. The handle was of blue enamel and this same material inlaid at the base of its blade appeared among the gold.

**EXCALIBUR: SWORD OF THE PROMISED VICTORY**

-_Seek your sword, the true breath of the stars, and the torrent of life. It is the focal point of your ideal, its materialization; it concretizes the faith of men in the coming of a saving king who will free them from oppression. There is no hope for Nirn except in your meeting... all other roads lead to nothingness._

* * *

Artoria Pendragon bowed over her bed, heart pounding. The horrible nightmare did not dissipate from her memory as she was staring at the ceiling. Everything seemed too real. Her body was rested, despite a pasty mouth. A long time had had to pass by the light that filtered through the windows. The sun had continued its course and no longer directly illuminated the room. For the first time, Saber was able to turn her head. She recognized this long barracks with beds were wounded moaned as the military hospital associated with the garrison of Wayrest.

Artoria stood up and made some movements. She held a grimace. Her shoulder was pulling her, as was her left arm, and bandages were sticking to her chest. Nevertheless, Saber now felt in good enough shape to leave the place. The sense of urgency had not left her when he woke up. Had she really spoken to Mara, the goddess of marriage, of generosity and goodness? On Nirn, the Age of the Gods had not ended; they often intervened in the life of mortals. Above all, her instincts warned her that a great danger was weighing on this world... now her world even though Mara had spoken of Shiro and her as strangers.

Holding her ear, the ring heard the tumult of distant battles.

Her hauberk had been repaired; her shield and her sword had been replaced. She dressed and armed herself, slowly, her face tensed by pain. Every move made her suffer.

Once this was done, Artoria looked towards the nearby ramparts. Wayrest guards armed with bows held the wall, exchanging fire with invisible opponents. Yet it was not from this area of fortifications that the rumors of fighting originated. Artoria Pendragon gave up going up the stairs to talk to the soldiers of Menevia. No, helping these men would be useless. The fight went beyond the siege, it included all of Nirn. Excalibur... she had to find Excalibur. Mara had not said anything about it position, but it seemed obvious that it had followed her to Nirn.

Fastening her sword-belt, the shield on her shoulder, and the helmet in the hollow of her arm, the teenager girl left for the royal palace. Only King Eadwyre could help her.

Saber had made no more than a few steps than a great cry came out of a thousand mouths:  
\- The doors are compromised!

For a besieged city, there is no greater misfortune. If the enemy captures and guards one of the entrances, the defense becomes impossible! Artoria rushed forward. Others had reacted like her; city dwellers seized the first weapon-capable object, joined by soldiers on patrol and wounded exited the hospital.  
This commandless troop reached the square in front of the northwest gate. The defenders, on the way round, had been the first to react to the alarm horn. They had rushed down the stairs and were now fighting on its steps, trying to repel the barbarians who were coming from the postern.

Reinforcements appeared at the right time. The assailants were not yet large enough to storm the city, and the soldiers occupying the walls were mobilizing all their resources. The unruly rush caused the savages in iron armor to stumble. In the furious melee that followed, Saber quickly eliminated a first barbarian before finding herself in front of another who charged her. The robber's yataghan and her sword threw sparks as they collided. Then the girl counter-attacked, hitting her opponent three times. Two were just scratches, but the sword failed to disembowel the looter, crossing his rough rusty armor. With his hand pressed against his wound, he wanted to fight back. Then Artoria struck him in the heart.

The fury of the townspeople had broken the barbarian line. However, the momentum of the assault was rapidly exhausting as new reinforcements continued to flow through the door. Artoria gave voice, calling on the defenders to take back the guardhouse where the harrow controls were. The charisma of King Arthur electrified the fighters who drew from her inspiration the strength to repel the enemy. Alas, many were not professional fighters and their courage was punished with a heavy price. Only a dozen men entered the bastion. Artoria rushed up the stairs, letting her allies contain the barbarians. She defied the winch ring. And, in the clash of loose chains, fell the grate of wood and iron.

Cut off from the bulk of their forces, the barbarian warriors knew they had little time left before being crushed. They did the only thing they could do... they concentrated to take back the guard corps and reopen the harrow. They swept away the defenders within moments and Artoria found herself on the steps facing six barbarians in iron armor and war masks, wielding two-handed weapons.  
The first attacker doesn't have time to figure out what's happening to him. With a kick in the face propelled he over the railing and he crashed far below. With his throat cut, the second followed him a moment later, dragging a companion into his fall. The last three assailants acted with more caution. This little woman proved to be a powerful adversary even if nothing in her appearance could make them believe it. They attacked all three and Artoria braided an iron wall in front of them with her sword, stopping the attacks, repelling the blades and splitting sharply to counter-attack. A warrior collapsed quickly, coughing up blood as she had touched the unarmed part of the armor, but the others retreated cautiously. Good, she could catch her breath... They came back with reinforcements, furious, probably just as shameful to let a little girl terrify them, but unable to back down. Once again the blows exchanged and Artoria turned her sword sharply. As air swirls wrapped around the blade, a bluish aura palpitated along her arms from her shoulders to her hands gloved with iron mesh:

-O wind... **Strike Air**!

Torn from the ground by a roaring whirlwind, warriors fell back into the void in the company of the corpses of their friends... in the midst of a rain of pieces of wood as well as tiles ripped from the roof.  
The show of force cooled the barbarians. They were preparing to go back to the assault when the trumpets rang. Coming from the street, mounted knights charged, banners of the Order of the Rose slamming in the wind, spears stretched. Aided by surprise, the noble in armor of plates plunged violently into the mass of foot-soldiers, repelling the enemy. In the confusion, Artoria had been momentarily forgotten. Notifying the chief of looters, a great barbarian in heavy armor, she jumped right next to him from a window, beheading her neighbor in the process.

Drawing a large scimitar with two hands, the enemy officer began a dazzling demonstration of it handling. Unlike the simple fighters she had faced until then, Saber was facing an enemy of value. Slower than she, however, he was better on both offensive and defensive.

The fight stretched into a binding of blades. To break it, Artoria "_fugua_". She quickly retreated laterally and simultaneously stood _en garde_ again. However, the enemy threw himself forward, attacking from the point by aiming at the throat and face. The blows were carried out without war by force, but with speed. The King of the Knights merely struck the tip of the blade outwards. Despite his helmet, she felt the enemy grimacing, surprised by the shock he had just felt on his wrist.  
As the barbarian came back to her by knocking mightily, she took a step aside at the last moment... before spinning on herself with the elegance of a dancer. Her opponent's blade struck the ground and Saber placed his foot on it in order to block it. Already, taking advantage of the opening, she pushed her own blade under his helmet. He collapsed on his knees as the flood of his blood poured out on his chest.

At the end of an exhausting battle, covered with wounds, and the mails of her armor broken in many places, the former king of Brittany leaned against the wall to catch her breath. The knights were circling in the courtyard of the châtelet, sounding with their spears the multiple corpses lying on the ground. But there were no more barbarians alive. The assault had been repelled... Artoria's eyes folded as she gazed at the bodies of the inhabitants and the guards who mingled with the remains of the enemies. Who had opened the doors? Because the doors had not been broken in, someone had opened them from the inside.

* * *

Before King Eawyre, Saber received Rin's first aid.

\- ... There is no doubt that the enemy has agents in town. This means that we must fear that they will try again to open a door. But other options are possible, Your Majesty: to poison the wells, to burn the food reserves... even to harm your life, sire.

The old king nodded his head covered in snowy hair:

\- I must once again thank you for your vigilance, Lady Pendragon. My kingdom and this city owe you much. We, Eawyre King of Menevia, would like to reward you. If he is in our power, we will hear you.  
Saber hesitated but she could not refuse this offer:

\- Your Majesty, do not think I am acting out of cowardice, but I must leave the city as soon as possible. While I was sleeping, I had a dream... Lady Mara appeared to me revealing that the assault on this city was caused by the actions of an evil spirit called Angra Mainyu.

Quickly, the King of the Knights summed up what she knew about this monster. She did not lie, but avoided any mention of her coming from another world or the Grail War merely saying that a magical experience gone wrong was at the origin of the birth of Angra.

\- ... Sire, according to Lady Mara, only the Excalibur sword can destroy this monster. Nevertheless... I don't know where it is.

\- But I know that!

King Eadwyre and the Artoria turned to Rin who was always busy caring her friend. Realizing that she had spoken without permission she blushed, then coughed in her fist before correcting:

\- Well, I found a legend mentioning it.

Rin offered King Arthur a Machiavellian smile:

\- Because you see, your sword has been waiting for you for a very long time, since the First Era, and you are lucky that the great Summoner Corvus Direnni understood that Excalibur was a blade of another world. As no one could handle it, he also understood that it was waiting for is real owner. When he died, he hid it in his grave... and hid his grave in an Outer Kingdom... a plan of Oblivion.  
Queen Barenzia shouted:

\- But then no one can find her.

\- Artoria is destined to take this blade, Your Majesty, she will. I am going with her.  
Saber frowned, staring at her friend. She understood that Rin had already done some research to find her... and that the story of Excalibur had thus been revealed to her. However, despite her own conviction that her sword would necessarily return to her hand, she could not be so optimistic.  
\- You have an idea where to look.

It was not a question and the Magus understood it well:

\- Yes, if you're looking for the tomb of a Direnni clan mage. There's only one place to start the search.  
\- The island of Balfiera.

A hand passed under her breasts, Rin raising a finger as every time she lectured someone:  
\- Exactly, the Direnni ruled all of Hight-Rock at the time when this country was called "Hegemony Direnni". However, the heart of their ancient empire, as its last shred stretches around the Tower of Adamantine.  
The Tower of Adamantine (or Direnni Tower) was the place where the gods lived when they walked among mortals. Probably the most powerful place of power in all of Nirn.

* * *

(1) Six times in the game (but only five times in the anime). However this Fanfic is well based on the game.

* * *

**Author's note: This chapter ends both "The Siege" and the first part of the saga that I am writing right now. The rest will make us change the mood since we will move away from the battlefields but also from Saber... to meet Shiro Emiya, because his destiny is as important as his former Servant's.  
Feel free to comment, ask for clarification, but with respect to each other's opinions.**


	8. Chapter 8 The Amber-eye Blacksmith

**Ashborn Stelaris : No... ****The story takes place around the time covered by "TES II Daggerfall", 250 years before the return of the dragons. The only dragon known at the time is the pet of a charming crazy old witch... wouldn't you like to be deprived of the comfort of her old age? So Cruel! The term "Dragoncrown" in the title refers to the crown worn by the Emperor... and thus to the Empire of Tamriel as a whole.**

**The current episode explains what is the point of divergence between the World of Fate/Dragoncrown and the normal history of the Elders Scrolls. In TES II: Daggerfall, the envoy of the Emperor (the Agent) solves the mystery of the death of King Lysandus **_**one year**_** after his assassination. While in Dragoncrown, his ghost continues to wander **_**fifteen years**_** after the murder.**

* * *

**The Amber-Eyed Blacksmith**

The room was bright and fresh, lit by two windows on top of a wall of fine white masonry. The three-color tile floor offered a simple design in pastel tones. An incredible amount of objects piled up on shelves: metal pots, teapots, mugs, steel bars, and ingots. On the other side of the room was a complete forge with an anvil and numerous specialized tools.

In the middle, on a ragged carpet, a young man with red hair was kneeling before an elegant elven sword with a golden blade. Despite his youthful features and the friendly glow that shone in his goofy eyes, its physical appearance often made uncomfortable those who discovered the brilliant blacksmith and Magus whose fame extended to places around the Imperial City. He was neither Imperial, nor Redgarde, nor Breton. Some said that he came from Akavir... in any case, his presence was a mystery.

Anyone looking at him at that particular moment would have wondered what he was doing, staring at the sword in front of him. But the young man's look wasn't just anyone's... _Structural Analysis_. He was actually looking at an iron wire pattern of the sword while the entire structure of the object, from its chemical composition to its history, was imprinted on it. The weapon was called _Ceymallari_, it was composed of an alloy of 40% iron, 20% quicksilver, 40% moonstone. The original possessor, the warlock king Imrahil of Ceyatarn, a powerful Ayleid warlord, had the most marked _Ceymallari_.  
The young redhead rose with his eyes closed and took an inspiration before reaching out. He then opened his magic circuits using as a trigger the memory of a certain night in a burning city...  
Lines of green lights similar to printed circuit boards appeared on his arm, filtering through the beige tunic worn by the young Magus.

He then began to focus on the different phases of the improved variant of the _Magecraft Projection_ which formed the only mystery he really mastered:

_Judging concept of creation_

_Hypothesizing on structure_

_Duplicating material composition_

_Imitating the skill of making_

_Sympathizing with the experience of his growth_

_Reproducing the accumulated Years_

_Excelling every manufacturing process_

He opened his eyes and hypnotized himself by focusing on his incantation:

\- _Trace, On !_

The _Projection_, _magecraft_ also called _Gradation Air_ was known on Earth as a despised mystery that was generally used to produce an object needed for a ritual and that the Magus did not have. The duplicates made by this technique were only hollow, fragile envelopes that loosened within a few hours.  
A useless _magecraft_.

If the young Magus had still lived on Earth, the process he called _Tracing_, an improved variant of the _Projection_ he had developed himself-even, would have subjugated the Magi of the Clock Tower because it exceeded anything they thought possible.

In front of the young man's outstretched hand, electric arcs appeared, drawing a fuzzy shape, composed of a mist of _prana_ particles. Slowly, _Ceymallari _emerged, became denser before becoming fully material.

The redhead grabs the blade out of breath... the first projection was always the most difficult. He made some moves, weighing the copy of the ancient sword. Suddenly, the blade moved in his hands in perfectly controlled moulds. The Magus began to dance with it. As a master of the ancient and acrobatic ayleid fencing, he jumped, pirouetted in the air, while _Ceymallari_ transmitted its memory... of the years of clashes, duels and battles while it was handled by the king-wizard Imrahil.  
A Magus has affinities, the first is _element_. It reflects what energy (air, water, fire, earth... more rarely anything else) was most compatible with it. The second affinity is the _Origin_, which constituted the root of its power...

The young man with the amber eyes had as _element_ "sword" and as _Origin_... "sword". He was an Incarnation, a sword in the form of a man. Its proximity... no, its identity with the concept "sword", allowed it to create the mystery _Tracing_, a _magecraft_ that allowed to create a copy of a blade almost perfectly identical to the original.

While the redhead smiled, satisfied to have added a weapon to his ever-growing arsenal, a roar worthy of a starving beast resounded throughout the house:

\- I am hungryyyyyyyyyyy !

The young man shook his head and smiled in an embarrassed way. Once again, he had forgotten the time.

\- _Trace, Off_ !

The double of _Ceymallari_ dissipated into bluish particles. However, the plans of the weapon were in him. Despite all his research into his strange power, the Magus did not understand how he stored his weapons. It was obvious that his memory could not retain the nuclear scheme of a sword, and the position of each atom in relation to its neighbors! So, hundreds of weapons... But in the last few months, he had found an element of response... he dreamed more and more of a desert where clouds of fire floated. In the infinite, the desert was planted with swords. He had recognized Caliburn, Excalibur but also the two twin swords used by Archer (Kanshou and Bakuya); as well as the stone sword-axe that Berserker had handled; Gae-Bolg the spear of Lancer; or weapons from Gilgamesh's Gate of Babylon such as Gram, Durandal, Houtenki and Dánsleif.

This explained why the materializations of his weapons became easier after the first time. He stored the plans "somewhere". Where? A parallel universe? Perhaps the world of his dreams...

He shook his head, reflection was not his strong point and he had a "monster" to feed.  
Picking up _Ceymallari_ (the original) before leaving the room, he smiled at the Dark Elf who was waiting for him at the door. She wore a simple black dress under a white apron and bowed respectfully:  
\- Good morning, Master Shiro.

\- Good morning, Endroni.

The young Dunmer smiles with adoration at her young master (1):

\- I am glad that you are finally leaving your workshop. Harassa is becoming untenable.

\- Feeding tigers must be in my karma.

\- Excuse me, young master?

\- Nothing, Endroni, I understand myself.

Shiro Emiya, a human of Earth reincarnated on Nirn by the will of the Holy Grail, headed for the kitchen.

* * *

The meal ended and gathered the three members of the small household of Emiya Shiro. First, Endroni. She was a beautiful Dark Elf. Small and delicate, she had pointed ears and gray-black skin. Her hair was mahogany and her eyes had a red iris and sclerotic... almost indistinguishable from each other. She had been following Shiro since childhood, having first been her father's servant... Talus Sepronius, an officer of the Imperial Legion stationed at Fort Moonmoth, near Balmora. The young Japanese had reincarnated there, on the island of Vvardenfell, in the imperial province of Morrowind. He had grown up on this archipelago of lava in the shade of the Red Mountain, homeland of the Dunmers, these elves adapted to the storms of ash, to disgusting animals like kagoutis (a kind of crossing between a mini-triceratops and a baby T-rex) the dogs of Nyx (giant insects) and the roars of Cliffs Racer, some sort of winged lizards.

Then, his father and mother were recalled to the Imperial City by order of the Emperor Uriel Septim VII. Favoritism that took their lives soon after... the vagaries of a court plot. Shiro's parents had both been murdered by the Black Brotherhood. Nevertheless, the murderers had paid with their lives. Shiro, barely eight years old, had avenged them, armed with a pair of swords. The feat had reached the ears of the Emperor who had rewarded the orphan by giving him a house in the Imperial City and an income.

Shiro's father's last will had a somewhat... boring consequence.

Indeed, before being stationed in Vvardenfell, Talus Sepronius had first been stationed in Elsweyr where he had formed a strong friendship with a local potentate. The latter was the executor of Talus's will, which included ensuring the survival of Shiro until adulthood. Having taken his commitment seriously, he had sent his best warrior...

* * *

You've never heard of the Khajiits?

Of all the intelligent people of Tamriel, they are the strangest. They do not have a well-established form. The appearance of a Khajiit depends on the position of the two moons (Masser and Secunda) in the sky at the time of its birth. Within a few weeks, they develop in eight distinct forms.  
Two of them (Alfiq and Senche) moved on four legs resembling respectively a big cat and a huge tiger, the others were humanoid. The Ohms and Ohmnes-raht were very close to the Wood Elves (the former having neither tail nor fur could easily be confused with the Bosmers). The Cathay, Dagi, Suthay and Suthay-raht were the "reference khajiits" because they were the most common. They had a humanoid body covered in fur, a feline head, a tail and claws, they differ mainly in their legs, some stand like men, others have tiger legs.

Do'Harassa was a Pahmar.

How do you describe the Pahmar? Imagine a man-eating tiger standing on his hind legs, wearing a steel breastplate, a scimitar on his belt and talking! Let us add that the Pahmar are the largest of the Khajits: two meters thirty for more than two hundred kilos of muscle!

Such was Do'Harassa.

When she walked next to Shiro in the streets of the Imperial City, passers-by made a detour. We understood them...

Still hungry, carnivorous, Harassa ate in a gullet the equivalent of an entire horse every day. Feeding her looked like Sisyphus's punishment in hell. Besides, she loved Shiro's cooking and used her oath to watch over him so she wouldn't miss a meal!

And to think that in his previous life, Shiro had found Taiga Fujimura invading.

* * *

Satiated - for the next three hours- Do'Harassa dropped back with a strangely humming throat sound. Shiro exchanged an amused glance with Endroni. It was necessary to take advantage of these good dispositions of the Khajiit for a painful discussion.

\- Harassa?

Grunting of the "beast" half asleep...

\- Harassa?

\- What?

Shiro shook his head and looked up to the sky:

\- You know what you have to do when I leave?

The Pahmar found herself on her feet in an instant:

\- **IT IS OUT OF THE QUESTION FOR YOU TO ESCAPE MY SUPERVISION**!

As Endroni plugged her ears with a cry of pain, Shiro picked up the trinkets that had fallen to the ground.  
\- Harassa... it's not up to me. I received instructions from someone important. I have to leave... for a few weeks or months. You'll have to stay here and...

\- Then I'm coming with you!

Shiro made a heroic effort not to show his annoyance... it wasn't as if the conversation was new. He had informed him of the situation two weeks earlier.

\- You can't. I have to act alone.

\- No one can compel you to...

He cut it off.

\- I am not forced, I am a volunteer. However, I cannot be pensioned by the Empire and refuse to do any service. Besides, I can't sit idly by if someone needs help.

Endroni laughed, masking her mouth in a charming gesture:

\- Master Shiro is always trying to help people. He is so kind. He never refuses to help merchants carry loads or clean their shops. He is known throughout the Imperial City for his dedication.

The immense khajiit looked away, fleeing the enthusiasm of the Dunmer. In a strange way, while the cat-men and the Dark Elves were figures of hereditary enemies (the latter reducing the former into slavery), Harassa literally adored the handmaiden. Although generally not very clever, the Pahmar had understood as well that she was in love with her master and often pointed out to the interested parties that Endroni had everything to make a good wife with a pretty body "with everything you need where you need it" and proven cooking skills. Incidentally, this allowed answering a great scientific question... Yes, Dark Elves can panic and blush with embarrassment.

However, this time, the support of the young Dunmer embarrassed her:

\- Yes, but we cannot help everyone, it is impossible.

Shiro nodded:

\- I know that. But that will not stop me from trying.

\- You're going to leave!

Shiro smiles sadly as he see tears in the immense tiger eyes of his friend:

\- For a while, anyway.

\- But who will cook for me?!

The Magus sighed... one could count on Harassa's selfishness to spoil the great tearful farewell scenes.

* * *

The Imperial City had been built four thousand years earlier by the Ayleids, the high-elves of the interior, an elven race now extinct. Seen from the sky, a city looked like a huge wheel whose hub was formed by the Imperial Palace dominated by the White Gold Tower. Inner walls, which made like spokes, divided the city into several districts.

The Elven garden district was a residential area. The carefully stacked streets were lined with beautiful white stone buildings with large windows lined with small-paned windows embedded in lead. Lanterns attached to the buildings allowed the streets to be lit at night. Guards in imperial armor patrolled through the back and forth of city dwellers.

Shiro passed under a porch and stopped in an inner courtyard, looking for a possible follower. However, no one attached his footsteps to his own.

Under a tree was an access to the sewers. Thanks to a key, he stripped the hatch and slipped into the darkness. At the bottom of a metal ladder, he found himself in a vast vaulted room resembling a cathedral. In the centre was a manifold fed by several small channels. The light fell from a grid into the ceiling and took a strange green shade. The smell... let's say it's better not to describe the stirring in the throat. Descending a damp stone staircase, Shiro entered a darker tunnel before arriving at a tight open pipe between two stacked platforms. He crossed it by a bridge made of a few planks and came to rest.

His sharp senses warned him of danger.

In an instant, two Chinese falchions appeared in his hands. Kanshou and Bakuya, the twin blades represented the Yin and the Yang. Although their projection was only a C- Noble Phantasm, they had become Shiro's favorite blades. Perhaps in memory of the Archer of the Fifth Grail War who had sacrificed himself to save him or simply because Archer's fighting style suited him perfectly.

Goblins appeared from a side corridor. These green-skinned humanoids, as tall as twelve-year-old children, infested the city's basements, teeming in sewers and ancient forgotten tombs.  
With a consummated ability, Shiro used his blades to counter attacks. He hated killing... but after living on Vvardenfell, he could not ignore that Nirn did not look like modern Japan. Killing or being killed was not a mere sight of the mind. Goblins had not been provoked. They had no particular hatred against him. They didn't even know him. Simply, in their primitive mind he was a lonely human and as they were many they forgot their customary cowardice thinking they had an easy booty.  
Forcing itself to counter-attack, the Magus swivels on a hip imitating one of Archer's magnificent movements... in a rather crude but effective way. A first goblin collapsed, ripped open. Two others perished as he jumped, fell back behind them... leaving two blood splash in his path.  
He then threw Kanshou with his left hand... missing a goblin. The survivors giggled and rushed, eager to take advantage of his mistake.

Except it was a feint...

Shiro had embraced Archer's dangerous fighting technique of leaving loopholes in his defense to channel attacks from his enemies. They allowed him to predict where they would strike... and thus trap them.

One goblin didn't understand what killed him. Kanshou and Bakuya were magnetized by each other and balanced like boomerangs. Gan Jiang's sword returned to the one representing his wife. The sharp blade cut the opponent who stood in its way. Swivelling on himself, Shiro recovered her with a fluid movement and killed two other humanoids in dazzling gestures. At this sight, the survivor lost all courage.

With a sigh, the young redhead dissipated his blades.

* * *

Following pictograms drawn in some rooms, Shiro arrived at a staircase that led him into a monumental ruin. A hypogeum with walls filled with columns sometimes broken. His sharp senses detected the presence of several scattered armed guards in the raised galleries. However, the light coming from a grid sealed in the vault did not allow him to see them clearly.

But there were two people near a wall. One of them was sitting in a big chair, and the other was standing behind.

As he approached a spell lit a torch. The light revealed the Magus as the most well-known High-Elf in the imperial city, Ocato of Firsthold High Chancellor of the Emperor and his war mage.  
Sitting on the chair,marked features, hair reduced to a grey crown, stood Uriel Septim VII:  
\- My apologies for having called you to these sinister places, my friend, but I had to make sure that our meeting was far from prying eyes.

Shiro knelt down:

\- Your Imperial Majesty, I am at your command. Order and I will obey

\- Do you see, there is no need for this kind of nonsense, where only my friends can reach me. You wonder why all this secrecy? The Empire is facing great danger. Fifteen years ago, King Lysandus of Daggerfall died in mysterious circumstances. My agents never found out who murdered him and why... most of them died or were forced to flee. Lysandus was a loyal subject and vassal, more than that he was a faithful friend and a good man. I do not know why this noble sovereign has not found rest, but his ghost wanders at night at the head of an army of undead that ravages his former kingdom! We must close Oblivion's jaws and bring his soul back to peace.  
Shiro nodded:

\- Well, Your Majesty, I would do my best.

A murky expression appeared on the emperor's face.

\- While you are in High-Rock, I would also like you to work on setting up a secondary mission, my friend. Shortly before Lysandus died, I sent a letter to his wife, Queen Mother Mynisera. A personal... mail that never reached its recipient. I'd like you to find it and destroy it.

\- Yes, Your Majesty.

The Emperor nodded and waved at Ocato. The mage plunged the torch into a pool of sand. The light disappeared. In the returned darkness, however, Shiro heard the voice of the emperor address him one last time:

\- Sleep well, my friend. Tomorrow a long journey awaits you.

* * *

(1) This is the effect of the _real_ Noble Phantasm of Shiro... UBW? No, UHW... **Unlimited Harem Work: Eroge Main Protagonis**t! Under the influence of this Noble Phantasm, half... not two thirds of female beings (for the most part pretty and sexy... as if by chance) appearing in his adventures fall in love with Shiro... who obviously does not notice!


	9. Chapter 9 Privateer's Hold

**StrahTGW: ****Thank you. The point of view should continue to change to favor the character closest to the action. Artoria and Shiro should most often be at the heart of history but in fact ALL Servants and Masters should have the opportunity to shine.**

**First of all I would like to celebrate a Merry Christmas to all my readers. I hope for them that they will have a good day. Consider this text a gift.**

**Author's Note: Let's talk a bit about Shiro in Fate/ Dragoncrown. The Shiro of this Fanfic derives from the Shiro of the first road of Fate/Say Night. He kept the **_**Magecraft**_** knowledge of his previous existence and the memory of the combat lessons with Saber. However, as the Fate/SN cannon wants, it has not yet unlocked **_**Unlimited Blade Work**_**. Three remarks:**

**1°) He will learn to use UBW... it says the incantation and appearance of his **_**Reality Marble**_** will be different. If you have any ideas, feel free to share them, I haven't decided yet.**

**2) Shiro reincarnated and - in his new body- applied Rin's explanations to control his **_**Magic Circuits**_** from childhood. In Fate/Dragoncrown, he does not suffer from the atrophy of his circuits that we see in the three FSN routes.**

**3°) you will see it later in the series, but Shiro was trained in combat and the use of magic from childhood... by order of the Emperor. You didn't think Uriel Septim VII put Shiro under her protection out of sheer kindness?**

* * *

**Privateer's Hold**

The port of the Imperial City was connected to the city by a long underground passage once dug by the Ayleids. The tunnel was clogged at both ends by heavy wooden doors with decorative hardware that featured the emblem of the Septim Empire, a dragon whose wings were folded to represent a diamond.  
The excavated corridor was not just a road. Merchants had set up shop there, and the crowds of people entering or leaving the capital of the Tamriel Empire mingled with public criers praising the fishes that had been fished in Rumare Lake, the Argonian jewels imported from the Black Marshes, the services of an enchanter "from the court of Daggerfall" and a thousand other wonders.  
One reached the end of the tunnel drunk with noises, having been forced to slip between the crowds or even to push annoyers. Finally, the sunlight dazzled you by revealing the high Ayleid-style lighthouse set on a circular stone platform.

Shiro knew the port and walked a good step, while talking with Endroni and Harassa. The weather was fine and the young man was excited by the idea of going on a journey to a distant land. At times like this, he had trouble remembering that he was in fact... thirty-four years old, having lived two lives of seventeen years in two distinct worlds.

The port itself looked like a crescent moon. The stone piers were lined by hangars and offices of commercial companies, which were dominated by ramparts connecting defense towers. Like the lighthouse, they were ayleid buildings of an alabaster white, elegant and sculpted to accentuate their aerial aspect.

So they arrived before the _Maria-Elena_. This small carrack with two masts, with its small rear castle, was the shuttle between the Imperial City, Bravil and Leyawiin. Shiro would only take the first part of his voyage on board. A larger ship would then take him on board. It would then have to bypass Elsweyr and Valenwood, passing between the south of the continent and the Archipelago of Autumn, before crossing the Abecean Sea. A journey of two good weeks, if the wind was favorable... three if not.

Shiro turned to Endroni and smiled at the pretty Dunmer:

\- Well, I have to say goodbye, I...

He could not finish as the Dark Elf threw herself against him to squeeze him very hard. Uncomfortable, the young man laughs a little foolishly, rubbing his head in a face that did not make him look smarter.

\- Will you be careful?

The replica of the Dark Elf made the reincarnated Japanese smile kindly:

\- Yes, I promise.

\- Liar! Liar! I know you... you will forget your promise to the first person in danger you see. Don't say something you won't do.

Surprised, Shiro realized that her friend was crying and he didn't know what to say because... because she knew him too well. Endroni was right; he couldn't help himself if he was in danger.  
\- I... I'll be back soon.

Endrosi answered nothing, continuing to cry. A little lost in their little universe, the two young people were not paying attention to the snide smiles of the travelers and dock workers... or especially to Hadrassa. The Pahmar looked up to the sky, living statue of "The incarnate exasperation taking the gods to witness the mildew of adolescent love".

The Khajiit would no doubt have intervened, but an exaggerated clearing of the throat attracted the attention of young Magus. A character wearing a white fabric mage dress, the hood masking his face, approached the trio. Shiro noticed the lacing of blue, pink or gold ribbons that closed his hood, or the locks of snowy hair that appeared in the neck. It leaned on a heavy Z-shaped stick, a mixture of black wood and gold, with inlays of precious stones and also decorated with multiple ribbons:  
\- Excuse me, young man, I would hate to be interrupted if I had such a precious gazelle in my arms.  
The voice was surprisingly young and playful; the character's white hair had to be of birth and not the result of age. Yet Shiro felt uncomfortable. Her instinct warned her that there was something abnormal about this character. He felt pressure coming from him... pressure he hadn't felt since... since... the Grail War! As if he was facing a Servant!

His voice was harsher than he wished when he replied:

\- Who are you?

Another laugh of the character who raised both hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender:  
\- Calm down! I'm not threatening you... I just wanted to ask if you were Shiro Emiya. For the sake of form, actually, because I know you're Shiro Emiya. But, you know, it's a way to start the conversation: "Hello, are you Shiro Emiya" "But yes" "Wonderful, it's you I was looking for".

The said Shiro looked at the Magus with round eyes, because he had just mimed the scene in a perfectly ridiculous way... If it had not emanated such power from this character, the young man would have taken him for a very poor comic. For her part, Endroni had backed away and blushing, suddenly aware that her moment of tenderness had taken place in public and especially that the unknown man was looking at her a little too intensely. Do you know the expression "undressing with the eyes"? Well, that was it; literally... he looked after his feminine forms with a little too much insistence to make Endroni feel comfortable. Shiro also noticed this libidinous look. His voice was even a little colder:

\- At the risk of repeating myself, who are you?

At his side, Do'Hadrassa now had his hand on the knob of his cement and the white Magus coughed in his fist:

\- Oh... call me... say Lailoken.

Even a five-year-old would have understood that it wasn't his real name. However, before Shiro could answer, "Lailoken" had begun to speak again, and the young man noted that his voice was firmer and contained a pressing prayer:

\- Sorry, I can't tell you more about myself. I have reasons to want to avoid publicity. Again, I'm not threatening you... in fact; I don't want anything, good or bad. You're just a means to an end. I would need you to transport something to someone. It's very important. It won't put you in danger, and it will even help you... indirectly.

\- To transport something?

"Lailoken" put a hand in his sleeve and pulled a box the size of his palm.

\- You are going to meet someone during your trip. I saw her... I often see events before they arrive. This is for her (1).

Shiro frowned but took the small package:

\- Who should I meet?

\- You know this person, it will be a reunion and you will be pleased... very pleased. And this is someone you know you have to meet since the day you were born. What ridiculous wording... isn't it? It would seem grandiloquent with anyone else, but not for you. On the day of your birth you were already looking for someone. On this... farewell? Or goodbye?

"Lailoken" turned around and left whistling a melancholic jingle... Shiro found him something familiar and while opening the little package, part of him was trying to remember the name of the song. The box contained an irregular piece of blue crystal. Obviously, it was a fragment of something bigger, detached by a violent shock.

_Yesterday_...  
Shiro jumped like struck by lightning... He had just remembered the musical title hummed by "Lailoken". It was _Yesterday_. This famous Beatles song could not be known to any individual born on Nirn...  
He looked for the Magus. Except that it seemed to have evaporated while Shiro focused on the crystal. The young blacksmith discovered that flowers of all colors had bloomed in the interstices of the cobblestones, but only around the slabs trodden by the magician!

* * *

Shiro was awakened by the cold. He was lying on a litter of dry branches and a camp fire was burning near him. The smoke stagnated in the air... As he stood up and turned his head around, he discovered a natural cave. Sinister detail, human bones were piled up near him.  
How did it get there?

He remembered leaving the Imperial City... a long, boring journey until... yes, the storm! A storm like the end of the world had suddenly hit the carrack. The sails torn by the wind, shaken by the bundles of water which struck it with the violence of a siege ram, the nave had disintegrated around him. Shiro had swum desperately to escape death. The sea had thrown him against a cliff. Fortunately, there was a small beach between the rocks. He had managed to slip on the sand. Discovering a cave, he had crept in to shelter elements. It had saved his life. Lightning had struck the top of the cliff and tons of rocks had closed the providential entrance.

Shiro couldn't help but think the storm was nothing natural.

The storm seemed to go after him and chase him

He sighed. His last reflex before collapsing was to light a fire. As a result of this outbreak, his salt-encrusted, torn clothes had dried up on him as he slept in the cave. Before losing consciousness, however, Shiro had noted an inner exit, an artificial passage. The collapse of the entrance thus did not condemn him to die imprisoned as in a grave.

The red hair Magus made a torch with dry branches bound together and ignited it with fire, before reaching out:

\- _Trace, On_!

Kanshou appeared before him and his fingers closed on the familiar handle.

He entered a corridor made of large stones, roughly cut. The floor consisted of clear slabs, cracked by the passage of time. The passage stretched only a few meters before turning to the left. A little further, a conical torchiere burned peacefully.

The bend led to a room made of the same materials. The furniture was reduced to two black stone altars. On the first were small vials filled with pink or green liquids. A lot of gold and precious stones were piling up on the second.

Shiro swiveled aside and Kanshou whistled into the air, cutting in half the huge black rat that had just jumped on him. His reflexes had once again saved him. After such an unpleasant welcome, Shiro did not hesitate to examine the riches in the room.

The Amber-Eyed Blacksmith identified the potions as alchemical fluids which cure wounds and diseases. The coins were Septim, the Empire currency and the gems are amethysts.

He left the room with these earnings, climbing a steep staircase. The young man heard repetitive screams and grimaced... an imp! That monster wasn't very dangerous. Only, unlike terrestrial legends, it was a small horror as big as a baby and resembling a miniature gargoyle: the gray skin, a horny demon head and flying thanks to membranous wings. This little monster attacked by throwing flames out of his hands.

Shiro extinguished his torch and held out his left hand. He concentrated for a moment before Bakuya, the twin sword of Kanshou appeared.

The upper floor corridor was straight, lit from far and wide by flares. It distinguished a bat. Far from being blinded by the light, she threw herself on him and he sliced it. Yet another archetypal monster...

When Shiro arrived halfway from the bend he could see at the other end of the passage, he inspected a door in the left wall. It would have been like a prison lock with a screen window and a thick exterior lock. However, as he pulled it, the door turned on its hinges, squeaking.

The room was of medium size with a large coarse statue of a mage sitting on an armchair facing two large wooden cages filled with human bones. There was also a table with a dagger and a bunch of gold coins.

The redhead intercepted a flame with Kanshou, the spark of fire ricocheting on the wide blade. The imp he had heard was flying there, reaching out to him. Running, folded in half, the Magus dodged two attacks by brutal hooks and then jumped forward. Its blades described an x in the air. Doubly struck, the little monster chirped and fell to the ground.

* * *

It was in the underground lair of a group of privateers. The place was bathed in a particular, unhealthy atmosphere. The walls were bare, never decorated, and most of the rooms were empty, without any furniture. The lighting came from glass globes partly filled with sand where candles had been planted. They were hung by chains on the ceiling, everywhere. Sometimes there were enigmatic statues or black stone altars. In the corridors there was a cacophony of rat squeaking, bat shouting and imp chirping. This veritable maze alternated prison cells, passageways rotating in every direction, stairways, natural corridors, a library and... torture rooms.

In one of them, Shiro faced his first human opponent, a thief in grey leather armor, with the features masked by a hood. The room with its great instruments of torment covered with dried blood sickened instantly the redhead. He also saw a Magus lying on the floor, dead, and a pile of bodies cut into pieces a little further! Three heads stuck on stakes were staring at him.

Shiro remembered the basement of the Kotomine Church with all the undead who supplied Gilgamesh with energy. He also remembered the discussion that had guided his whole life. Then a young boy, Shiro had told Kiritsugu that he would become a Champion of Justice and save everyone. His adoptive father - dying - then had a pale smile. He tried to explain to him that we could not save everyone. Often the hero, to protect the innocent, had to kill the villain. Simple words... words intended for a child. He only really understood them when he saw the horrors perpetrated by Kirei Kotomine. The false priest had sown death all his life, without remorse, just because it was the only thing that allowed him to deceive his boredom.

Deep down, Shiro knew he was just a faker chasing after an impossible ideal. He knew that, often, he would only discover monsters like Kirei Kotomine after years of crimes. Shiro also admitted that to save some, it was necessary to kill others... Nonetheless, it had been a huge renunciation.

All this had gone through his mind in an instant, before being swept away by a cold rage.  
He rushed forward, intercepting the arrow fired by the thief.

\- Let Azura take you away, you dirty _N'gwah_!

A dark elf? Shiro immediately changed his guard, leaving a very particular flaw in his defense. The Dunmers learned fencing from two major schools that Shiro mastered. His opponent took the bait. His feet on the ground, the position of his hand on the guard of his sword, the way his shoulders were placed... the Dunmer was about to try the _Coup de Grâce of Abernanit_, a very famous technique of the School of the Exalted, created by the Three Times Blessed Rangidil.

The dark elf thief feigned to keep Bakuya and Shiro feigned to fall into his trap. Then as his enemy attacked, he threw himself back while letting go of Kanshou. The Chinese sword grazed his opponent by swirling. The criminal thought he had defeated him and threw himself forward just to see Shiro's weapon vanish into blue particles. However, the Magus was not empty-handed... but he now had a spear of red wood with a sharp point.

Gae Bolg had become one of Shiro's favorite Noble Phantasm in recent years. The lance was light; it allowed for a good extension and could even be thrown away. Besides, it didn't require much energy to be _traced_. Even without being used as a Noble Phantasm, the spear of Cù Chulainn caused cursed, very painful and incurable wounds.

The thief was surprised by the instantaneous change of weapon and retreated as Shiro completely changed combat style. All of a sudden, the dark elf was facing a fast, relentless wolf that stood in the whirlwind of a spear radiating a brutal thirst for blood.

Using Gae Bolg as a pole, Shiro jumped beside the Dunmer and kicked him in the chest. The thief rolled on the ground and stood up, dropping his weapon:

\- Please!

The amber-eyed Magus looked at him for a moment, and then gave up his semi-squatting position to let the red spear rest on his shoulder... imitating Lancer's usual relaxation. Without a word, shiro turned around and walked slowly down the stairs... giving the thief a chance. If he had been smart, the Dunmer wouldn't have jumped on his sword and tried to shove it in his back.

Gae Bolg swirled like an airplane propeller, fending off the attack, then Shiro jumped... pushing the red spear into the enemy's heart.

The amber-eyed blacksmith then faced archers wearing fur loins, steel helmets and gauntlets. The black bow he drew nailed them to the wall.

* * *

Shiro then reached a huge throne room whose vault was lost in the heights. One of the columns of white stone, weakened by time, had broken. The section which had broken off was twice as thick as a human trunk. When he fell, he had dug a large depression in the pavements of the ground.  
A long majestic staircase made it possible to reach a throne lit by candlesticks hanging from the ceiling. Their lights revealed banners adorned with a fleur-de-lys and a green cross, large enough to serve as a sail for a ship.

Who built this Dungeon and why? The terrible and majestic place seemed far too impressive to house rats and thieves.

Quietly, Shiro crossed the room passing from shadow to shadow. He discovered a silhouette near the stage of the throne... A human skeleton pacing between the two stairs that, on either side of the throne, climbed to doors near the ceiling. The undead was made of naked, yellowed bones, but its orbits shone with a supernatural glow. He held a rusty sword and a wooden shield reinforced with an iron strapping.

Shiro summoned Archer's bow again and blew his head off. The skeletons were not vulnerable to the arrows; it was the only place to touch them.

He climbed the steps of the monumental staircase, repelling the attack of a bat thanks to Kanshou and Bakuya.

On Earth, such a prolonged demonstration of his talents would have completely flattened him. He was born with 27 Magic Circuits... an already very average number. Since Kiritsugu's instructions were more aimed at making him renounce learning the _Magecraft_ than teaching it to him, he believed that it was necessary to create _Magic Circuits_ by using his nerves before each use of the _Magecraft_, an ineffective and dangerous technique that, in addition, had prevented him from using his real _Magic Circuits_. As a result, they had atrophied. During the Grail War, he had barely managed to produce thirty _prana_ units per circuit.

Things had changed, on Nirn. He had opened his _Magic Circuits_ since early childhood, and they were now operating at full capacity. Each can produce 75 _prana_ units. If he had still been Saber's Master, he would have had no trouble providing him with the 2000 units needed to activate **Excalibur**.  
Upon reaching the throne, Shiro examined it. Behind the backrest, there were vertical rails and signs of wear such as those caused by friction. Discovering a lever, the Magus pulled it out. With a squeak, the whole platform on which the throne stood began to climb. It was some kind of elevator.

* * *

A gallery hidden by the shadows was under the ceiling. From there, one of the standard corridors of the Dungeon climbed up to the surface. He had to eliminate some of the pets monsters of the privateers and an Argonian assassin before discovering the exit door of the underground labyrinth.  
The night welcomed him.

Masser (the big red moon) and Secunda (the small, blue and green ball) bathed a grassy heath with their strange mixed clarity. On his right were ruins eroded by time, dominating the cliff where his ship had been torn apart. The storm had disappeared and only a few clouds still hid the stars.

There was a stony path. Shiro followed it to an indicator panel surmounted by a sleeping raven.  
Gothway Garden, 16 miles.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time he walked all night.

* * *

**(1) ****The passage lost much with translation. In French it was more neutral. I do not mention the gender of the person that Shiro will meet.**


	10. Chapter 10 All the World's Evils

**Al the World's Evils**

The Royal Council Hall was adjacent to the throne. King Eadwyre sat there under the banners of Menevia, in a high chair facing the entrance. The other lords were seated along two tables, leaving the centre of the room empty.

When the two halberds opened the door, Saber entered with a quick step, without looking to the right or left. When she arrived, there was silence. The royal councilors had already had the opportunity to see her several times. Nevertheless, she was so pretty that everyone lost their breath to look at her, men out of admiration, women too... but not without jealousy. It was, however, difficult for them to accept that she killed ogres and wyvern, at least until they noticed her lack of nervousness at the thought of appearing before the king's counsel. Clothed in iron meshes, wearing the tabard adorned with the three roses of Menevia, Saber put one knee to the ground, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, her helmet in the hollow of his arm:

\- I, Artoria Pendragon, Knight of the Rose, answer your summons, my king.

The old king made a simple gesture of the hand:

\- Stand up, Lady Artoria.

With a regal grace, the young woman obeys to face the sovereign of Menevia. Behind her, the guards of the gate announced: "Rin Tohsaka, invocator of the Guild of the Magi of Torrent". Still dressed in her beautiful red and black dress, the Magus slipped on the long purple carpet and bowed with just what needed of humility... Rin was full of pride.

\- The magic of the guild is in the service of Your Majesty.

\- Damsel Rin, you can stand up.

\- Thank you, Your Majesty.

The astonishing turquoise eyes of the reincarnated young Japanese swept the audience: high-ranking courtesans, captains of the royal army, the high priest of Zenithar.

She nodded slightly to greet them, and then turned to her royal host:

\- Your Majesty, when we enter the royal mansion we are warned that draw a weapon or using magic is a serious offence. Nevertheless, if I may, I'd like to give a little... privacy to our meeting. Well, we certainly wouldn't want a bunch of dudes with crystal balls to bring back what we're about to say, would we?

King Eadwyre squished his eyes and turned to his wife, Queen Barenziah. The beautiful black elf nodded her head and the sovereign in turn nodded. Rin smiled and then half closed her eyes before whispering an incantation, one hand reaching out towards the door, the other resting on her heart:

\- _Das Schließen Vogelkäfig Echo_.

The stone walls lined with tapestries, the double door, were covered with a sort of light-filled violet membrane, pierced by sparks. A _Bounded Field_. As the king's advisors looked around with a little bit of worry, Rin smiled:

\- Don't worry, this spell is not permanent. It just prevents us from spying... and getting out of the room. I hope...

She abruptly paused and turned to Saber - sighing with exasperation- while rubbing her arm... where she had just been pinched. The young knight girl knew her too well and had just prevented her from finishing her sentence "I hope no one will need to satisfy a pressing desire". Rin still had to learn how to behave in front of a king.

* * *

The monarch had gathered his council to listen to Artoria ask for a ship to join Balfiera, in search of the tomb of Corvus Direnni... and Excalibur. Rin intervened first:

\- Angra Mainyu, also called Ahriman, would be a god from _Aetherius_, beyond the Outer Realms. He is said to be the father of illusion and error, of cosmic falsehood, the deceitful spirit, and the spirit of Darkness, Evil and Death. His name comes from _Ahra Manyu_ who means "aggressive fury"(1). However...  
Rin stopped and glanced at the councilors and the king, who gave him anxious glances.  
\- However... this Angra Mainyu would be a falsification made of human hands. Artoria?

Saber acquiesced and resumed the word:

\- Gentlemen, I urge you to consider carefully what will follow. I spoke with Angra Mainyu and he told me his story. I should not have to insist on the title of "Prince of Lies" given to this spirit of darkness.  
The councilors and the king went in, and the sovereign nodded, signaling to Artoria to proceed. The young woman narrated that on a distant world (Earth) a sect of fanatics chooses a teenager to make him the scapegoat of all sins. Believing that evil existed in limited quantities, they alleged that burying it with six billion curses (2) would spare the rest of the world. Instead, they condemned an innocent soul to feed on evil. Where there were wives deceived their husbands more often, deceived husbands killed lovers, judges condemned murderous cocus to death, judges were killed in blood feuds, and blood feuds degenerated into war. Even death did not deliver him and he became Avenger, the spirit of revenge invoked in a war between magi for the possession of a magic cup fulfilling all wishes. The cursed one, too weak compared to the real heroes called by the other participants, was defeated and absorbed by the magic cup... which took him as humanity's vow: to create a god incarnating _All the World's Evils_.

\- He would have finally arrived at Nirn to complete his transformation. In the dream sent to me by Mara, I learned that the Aedras would be powerless against Angra Mainyu because they would have tied themselves to Nirn at the time of its creation and that Avenger would come from the outside.  
Rin answered after Saber:

\- The rest is a mere deduction, but we can take it for granted that the purpose of the present war is simply to feed Angra Mainyu. Murder, torture, rape, looting, destruction for the sake of destruction, grief, terror, theft, crying of abandoned children... it's a river of curses pouring out on Nirn. In a vicious circle, it makes Avenger more powerful. And the more Angra Mainyu grows in strength, the more he sows the hatred, the envy, the desire for revenge that are the leaven of wars... conflicts that nourish him in turn.

Old King Eadwyre was pale as death and his hands trembled:

\- You...

He inspired to regain his calm:

\- You said that this sword... this Excalibur can defeat him.

Saber replied:

\- When Angra Mainyu has gained enough power to materialize in a tangible form, he will be vulnerable.

A hand passed on her belly, a finger raised, Tohsaka continued:

\- Most weapons and spells, however, would be ineffective in destroying a being on the verge of becoming the Supreme Principle of Evil. However, Excalibur is a weapon as foreign to Nirn as Avenger is. More, it is a blade forged from a meteoritic iron - a fragment of _Aetherius_\- by creatures called "fairies". Which are the equivalent, on their original world, of the Ehlnofeys the "Bones of the Earth" that formed Nirn as it is now. Excalibur is therefore a fragment of the "All" forged by the incarnation of the "World". What is called a Last Phantasm. Excalibur reveals its true power when used to combat a danger that threatens the world. If Angra Mainyu - _All the World's Evils_\- is a poison, Excalibur is the antidote. But only... only Artoria Pendragon can use Excalibur.

\- Why, asked a fat-bellied adviser.

Rin shrugged her shoulders:

\- Because Artoria was born for this... Yes, I know it doesn't mean much. Consider the powers she revealed and the fact that Mara gave her the task of finding Excalibur. This is more than enough evidence. In any case, only Artoria can carry Excalibur and only this sacred blade can destroy Avenger.  
Until then, Barenziah had listened silently, but she suddenly spoke:

\- You _can't_ say more, or you _don't want_ to, Damsel Tohsaka?

Rin hesitated, glancing at Saber, who did not escape the dunmer queen, and then sighed:

\- You are right, Your Majesty, I do not want to.

Barenziah remained pensive for a short moment:

\- When Jagar Tharn betrayed the Emperor and exiled him to Oblivion to take his place during the Imperial _Simulacrum_, the gods sent a hero, the Champion of Tamriel. At that time also the designation of this hero rested in the hands of one person, the ghost of the witch Ria Silmane. It is not for us to question the wisdom of the Aedras.

The queen rose up:

\- Oblivion's jaws must be closed!

The old king left his chair, taking his wife's hand:

\- Oblivion's jaws must be closed.

One after the other, the councillors imitated their sovereigns to confirm their agreement.

* * *

Princess Morgiah came from an illustrious lineage. Her mother, Barenziah, was queen of Morrowind (the land of the black elves) and of Menevia by her marriage to King Eadwyre. Her older brother, Helseth, would one day be king of Morrowind. As for her father, General Symmachus, he had served Tiber Septim and several generations of Emperor of Tamriel until his death from the hands of peasants in revolt at the time of the Imperial _Simulacrum_.

From her parents, Morgiah had inherited the ash-grey skin, red eyes and pointed ears characteristic of the Dunmer. She got her beauty from her mother, and her father's determination. Nevertheless, her character was not embarrassed by the shyness and innocence which had made the charm of his mother in his youth. On the contrary, she was a manipulative, cunning and selfish person with an unusually vast ambition.

Wrapped in a long red dress, undressing her shoulders, her ebony hair sweeping half her face, Morgiah walked followed by her black cat, her familiar.

No one could enter the manor of Refuge without this spider reaching out to her wires in the hope of grasping the newcomer in the web of her intrigues. Of course, the princess had taken an interest in Artoria.  
As her mother came out of the meeting room, she gave her best smile and inquired about the holding of the conference. But she drew only a few generalities. Morgiah was hardly surprised. Her mother was no longer as naive as in her youth. On the contrary, the Dunmer were born intriguers and unfortunate experiences had enabled Barenziah to excel in this field.

\- Oh, come to think of it, I discovered Lady Pendragon's date of birth and took the opportunity to make her astral theme.

Barenziah turned to her daughter:

\- Have you learned anything important?

\- Oh yes! She was born on the day King Lysandus died. The signs surrounding his birth say "The day of the death of a great king will be born a great king".

Morgiah was smiling in secret about her mother's reaction... Lady Pendragon could already be useful to her by strengthening the queen's confidence in her daughter. As for Barenziah, she remembered Tiber Septim and Symmachus, her first husband. Both, though of humble extraction, had held the destiny of the continent in their hands. At least that partly answered the questions the Queen was asking. The weapons of legend were supposed to be held by great kings.

* * *

A coach pulled by four horses had left the royal manor under cover of the night. It was shaped like a barrel mounted on four-spoke wheels. The passengers were seated on a padded bench and - normally- could look out through a wide opening. However, the curtains were drawn preventing residents from distinguishing passengers. They could only see the coachman on the first horse and the Wayrest guards escorting the vehicle.

Inside, Rin Tohsaka and Artoria Pendragon made a strange contrast. If the former babbled, visibly happy with the adventure she was experiencing, the latter had frozen features. Usual attitude when she "took over" hiding her true emotions. Often this meant that Saber took on difficult choices, leaving others in the dark to protect them, an attitude that was often mistaken for coldness or disinterest... wrongly.

In a usual tic, Rin threw one of her pigtail behind her back, considering her friend carefully. She was no longer wearing her dress but a red turtleneck sweater with a white cross, a black mini skirt and stockings of the same color, the usual attire of the Magus during the Fifth Grail War.  
\- So what's wrong?

Saber opened her eyes wide, surprised by the question. Even after all these years, she still wasn't used to people poking her up to date... or at least daring to question her. The knight sighed:  
\- I am worried. Believe me, I do not wish to be indispensable to the defense of this city, but is it. My actions have saved Wayrest several times. Will they be able to resist during our absence?

\- Oh? My sister and Archer should be here soon to replace us.

Artoria leaned her head to the side:

\- Your sister?

\- Sakura Tohsaka.

With her eyes wrinkled and her patented evil smile, the Magus seemed to enjoy her friend's reaction.  
\- Sakura? You mean Shirou's friend? Are you sisters in this life?

Rin's attitude changed, replaced by discomfort and sadness. She rubbed her arm in a mechanical gesture, turning her eyes away:

\- In the previous one too. My father had Sakura adopted by the Matou. He thought he was offering her a life of Magus instead of ignorance... in fact; she had a journey to hell. Sakura was the real Master of Rider during the Grail War. Her adoptive brother, Shinji, did not have _Magic Circuits_ allowing him to provide _Prana_ to a Servant, so he was not chosen by the Grail to be a Master. Sakura summoned Rider and then used one of his _Command Seals_ to create the _Book of False Attendant_ that allowed Shinji to control Sakura's Servant.

Saber remembered the book that Shinji held during her first confrontation with Rider. He was not just tying the Servant. The fake Master also used it to project somes kind of guillotine blades made of prana. Fortunately, Shiro had easily defeated Shinji, forcing Rider to use her _Noble Phantasm_ to save him and flee. However, this did not explain Sakura's "journey to hell" mentioned by her... sister. Artoria observed Rin who always avoids her gaze and decided not to insist. The subject seemed sensitive.

\- I see.

* * *

The coachman jumped to the ground to open the rear door of the coachman, stopped in a side of the harbor. Bowing one hand over the heart: "Lady Pendragon, Lady Tohsaka, this is your ship: _The Phynaster's stride_".

The coachman designated a vessel moored at the jetty between two fat carracks. It was a caravel well recognizable by its rigging: a square sail in the main mast, a Latin sail on antenna at the rear, allowing it to turn tight. A small ship, but it was obviously well maintained. "Its captain's name is Kelmen and he can be counted on. However, you must board secretly. You have an appointment with his second in this tavern; hurry in before we realize our stop."

Without question the two young women headed for the harbor inn. In the darkness of the night, no light was discernible. The shutters were closed. This was not surprising. The harbour was outside the walls, built between the walls and the shore. Most of the inhabitants had fled to hide behind the walls of Refuge. Nevertheless, the orcs had not tried to attack there, since they could not deploy.  
With her hand on the pommel of her sword, Artoria pushed the door without resistance. Inside the harbor inn, the shadows seem to have solidified. The only source of light was the open door, allowing just to discern tables surrounded by chairs and the reflections of bottles abandoned here and there.

\- Lady Pendragon, Lady Tohsaka, close the door. I am Rodoryan, I was waiting for you.

As the Knight comply, positioning herself all the same between the sailor and Rin, one hears beating a percussion lighter. The shock between steel and flint creates a spark that ignites the wick of an oil lamp. A man with a sweaty face stands nervously in the light:

\- I am Rodoryan, the second of _The Phynaster's stride_. I have orders to take you aboard in complete secrecy, but first, I must make sure that you are indeed the Knight of the Rose called Artoria Pendragon and the Guild Summoner Rin Tohsaka. Can you give me proof of your identities?

The Magus grimaced, little amused at the idea of making a demonstration. She stretched a finger towards a bottle and murmured "_Gandr_". A black projectile hemmed in red smashed it. She approached and recovered a shard before nicking her finger: "_Minuten vor Schweiben"_ the glass fragments gathered together and reformed the bottle as if it had never been broken.

\- Is that enough?

Rodoryan nodded before turning to Saber. However, the latter showed a marble face and had just turned, sword in hand, to a door leading to the back shop:

\- Are the people in the next room your friends, master Rondoryan?

The man retreated a few steps as the lock-up opened by squeaking to let pass a party of strong men dressed in buff but dirty and eliminated clothes. Redguards, boarding cutlass in hand, wearing bandanas and earrings... they would have carried a sign "pirate", that they would not have displayed their profession more clearly.

Rodoryan smiles nervously:

\- Your fighting instinct is not... not to be underestimated; I'll take that as proof of your identity.  
He reached out to her, pointing them out to his accomplices:

\- Kill them!

* * *

The Redguards claim to be the best warriors of Tamriel (the Orcs and the Nords too... but we will say that they are jealous). In any case, these black-skinned humans form the most enduring of the mortal races. This allows them to fight longer than their opponents.

Nevertheless, they looked pale in the face of the two women who stood up to them:

\- _Gandr_!

Several black projectiles surrounded by a red aura passed over the tables to hit two pirates who were rushing on Rin. The runic curse materialized by Rin's _magecraft_ tore them from the ground, throwing them several meters further.

Artoria had jumped forward. A grave cry similar to the "kiai" of a martial art master was heard as she handled her bastard sword with two hands. The first filibuster managed to fend off but his blade shattered and he collapsed in a sheaf of blood. Saber swirled like a dervish; her blade described a parable and opened the chest of a second opponent.

A handful of seconds had passed since the beginning of the fight and four men were lying dead or dying. Rodoryan and the last two pirates did not hesitate to jump forward. But Rin had drawn a vaguely luminous crystal from the case hanging under her skirt Whispering a few words in German she threw it... the crystal disintegrated into a rain of sparkling glitter that fell upon the men who immobilized each caught in a cube of solidified air.

\- I will inform Sakura of the presence of these men.

Artoria agreed with Rin's remark:

\- How long will their prison be?

\- Several hours, my _magecraft_ is more effective on Nirn.

The knight woman examined the pirates lying on the ground, and frowned, raising their sleeves.

\- Each of them has a snake tattooed on his right wrist.

\- Probably the brand of their band...

Rin was going to say something more but stopped behind the counter. She had just discovered an elongated shape covered with a cloth stained with a dark and damp stain. Magus lifted up the textile and winced:

\- I found a dead man in a sailor's uniform... I'll bet you a meal in the best inn in town it's the real Rodoryan.  
An expression of disappointed greed crossed Artoria's usually serene face:

\- I am not taking the bet, you are probably right.

It was necessary to be bandied about to board _The Phynaster's stride_. But Captain Kelmen finally gave them permission after they told their story. The Breton sailor had a bitter expression, nervously caressing his thick brown beard:

\- The man you found dead looks just like Rodoryan. I am afraid we are embarking on a difficult journey. Enemies want to keep you from getting to port and before we even left Wayrest, I lost an excellent mate... and a friend.

* * *

After climbing the bridge to watch the towers of Wayrest move away, Artoria and Rin were discussing the rear castle. The knight was particularly intrigued by the spell her friend had used:  
\- You no longer use jewels? You threw a crystal in the tavern, not a jewel.

Tohsaka smiles at her:

\- The false Rodoryan was right; your perceptions are extraordinarily sharp.

She drew several twin crystals from her purse and showed them to Saber:

\- They are Soul Gems. Do you know what they are?

\- Yes, they are used for weapons and armor enchantments. I believe they contain souls of captured animals and monsters.

Rin nodded her head:

\- Exactly. Why would I exhaust myself to infuse my _prana_ in priceless gems, when there are more convenient energy sources? I have developed a ritual which, with only a few drops of my blood, allows me to modify charged Soul Gems to use them as precious stones so typical of the _magecraft_ of my master Zelretch.

The ship sailed all day and the next night. Awakened by the gulls, Artoria dressed but could not get her friend to leave her bed. Even when she shook her, Rin just whispered something that looked like "five minutes".

Amused, the Knight left her friend, her pillow clamped her, and came to have breakfast with Captain Kelmen.

As he watched her with fright swallow up enough to feed four crew members - all with perfectly elegant gestures - the sailor assured her that the ship was making good wind and would be before tomorrow in sight of Upvale, the port of the island of Balfiera.

When she had finished her "little snack", Kelmen handed her a spyglass so that she could observe the "Point of the shipwrecked", the southwest end of the island. As Saber watched with shivering attention the reefs and cliffs littered with wrecks thrown to her shores by the storms, she could not help but imagine the terrifying scenes that occurred there.

Seeing a movement in the sky, Saber discovered a strange cloud that she observed a few moments before understanding its true nature:

\- Wyvern!

A whole flock of these monsters had just taken the air from the top of the cliffs where they were nesting. And they were flying in their direction!

Captain Kelmen shouted : " to arms."

Drawing her sword, Artoria positioned herself on the deck, waiting for the attack. While Rin - finally torn from sleep- whispered an incantation beside her. She threw a Soul Gem at the group of Wyvern that plunged towards _Phynaster's stride_. Several monsters held a net full of fighters between their claws, which they were preparing to release... except that the crystal launched by the Magus turned into a swarm of silver darts that made a massacre among the winged monsters.

Many goblins were also killed or fell into the water. There were so many of them that the survivors were enough to put the crew in trouble... except that a real human tornado hit them. Artoria Pendragon was incredibly sharp and fast. She flipped, dancing with her blade. A magnificent spectacle... had it not been for the cries of pain and terror of the humanoids who collapsed around her, spraying her with blood.

Within moments, the Knight had emptied among its attackers and the humanoids were retreating. She pursued them. Her blade pierced bellies, blew heads off, and cut bodies in half, as she flew to the aid of the sailors. Terrified, the surviving monsters dropped their weapons and jumped into the water, far preferring to swim in armor to the coast than face her!

Nevertheless, the goblins were led by a terrible master. A warrior in leather armor, wearing a war mask, advanced towards Artoria. He wielded a terrible black sword and used it to mow down everything that stood between him and his prey, the sailors of _Phynaster's stride_ but also the humanoids.  
Disgusted by the enemy's behavior, Saber let her anger speak. However, the masked savage block by her impetuous attack and repelled her with a force equal to her own. The barbarian warrior shouted and gave her a terrible blow, making her stumble. His blood-soaked blade, the mad killer burst out laughing as Artoria jumped aside, one hand on her hip, bringing her fingers fished with scarlet.

He ran back, raising the terrible blade above his head. Artoria squished her eyes under her helmet and... _Prana Burst_... she leaps, before wielding her sword like a scythe.

This time, it was the savage's turn to back. A deep cut marked his chest. He had no time to pull himself together. Saber gave him a dazzling lesson of fencing. Blocking the man's sword with one hand, she struck him in the face with the pommel. Then, swiveling, she gave him a violent kick before impaling him.

Vomiting blood flowing through the cracks of his mask, the barbarian collapsed on his knees before spreading his entire length and immobilizing himself forever.

With the death of their master, the goblins lost all courage and in the face of the counter-attack led by Kelmen did not delay to get rid of themselves. Even the Wyvern withdrew, unwilling to continue a now lost battle.

Impressed, the captain joined Artoria who was treated by Rin. The Magus was holding a radiant gem in her palm. With her eyes closed, she murmured: "_Pflegen_".

\- Lady Pendragon, we are proud to have you aboard. Without you, and without Lady Tohsaka, our ship would be another wreck, ripped apart on the "Point of the shipwrecked".

* * *

(1) -asrá means "aggressive" in Sanskrit.

(2) Gilgamesh says 5.6 billion curses.


	11. Chapter 11 The Crystal of Corvus

**StrahTGW :**** My pleasure, and thank for you interest.**

* * *

**The Cristal of Corvus**

The island of Balfiera had no big city or capital. In fact, the smallest kingdom in Illiac Bay was not a heavily populated territory. All in all, there were six towns without walls: Blackhead, Gallomarket, Singbury, Upvale, Warwych.

After disembarking at Warwych, the island's only commercial port, Rin Tohsaka and Artoria Pendragon reached Upvale. They hoped to find information about the tomb of Corvus Direnni and thus about Excalibur, buried with him. The best thing would have been to go to the Direnni tower where the court of the Castellan de Balfiera sat in normal times... except that the time was nothing ordinary. For fourteen years, the island's sovereign, Medora Direnni, was imprisoned in her own castle by an army of undead!

No one really knew how things could have gone so wrong. It was said that Medora who - before becoming Castellan of the Direnni - had been the magus of the royal court of Daggerfall, would have wanted to release King Lysandus from the curse that had haunted the streets of his former capital since his death at the Battle of Cryngaine. The ceremony would have resulted in a catastrophe and the only reason the undead had not killed Medora was that the Castellan des Direnni remained their invocator. Only its existence kept them in this world.

Unable to dig into the archives of the legendary Adamantine Tower, Rin Tohsaka turned - in a bad mood- to the library of the House of the Guild of the Magi of Upvale.

* * *

Upvale Inn was a large stone building. The rooms occupied the floors. The first room, past the front door, was a tavern where the inhabitants came to empty some mugs after a day of work. In the gleam of tallow candles, we could see a mixture of humans and elves discussing, sitting at the counter or around small round tables. The white walls were decorated with red banners featuring the silver stills of the Direnni house, or the gold bull's head, of Balfiera.

Near the entrance, a direnni guard was supposed to prevent drunkard altercations. The guard was a High-Elf with golden skin and delicately silvered elven alloy armor. He wore it on a coat of mail which went down to the middle of his thigh and covered the arms between the shoulders and the gauntlets. A red scarf served as a belt. The helmet was characterized by two lyriform horns. The oval shield had in its centre the engraving of a winged woman, the daedric princess Meridia. No doubt the representation of a goddess fiercely hating the undead must have been of great comfort on this island invaded by animated corpses.

However, the guard was reduced to yawning while watching the fire cracking in the chimney. The regulars were abnormally calm; most had left the bar to invert the dining room... which nevertheless welcomed only one guest who happened to be the object of their disbelief.

When she arrived at the inn, everyone turned around to discover a young woman... no, rather a teenage girl in a chain mail with a sword at her side. Her blond hair was like gold and her eyes were like emeralds. Calling her "beautiful" would not have done her justice. The woman who had just entered had a breathtaking beauty. Each of her gestures exuded confidence and chivalry to the point that she seemed almost masculine... which by a strange paradox made her even more beautiful and feminine.  
She had immediately ordered a prolonged meal, and even more than her beauty, her appetite was a sensation. By a magic prodigy, she seemed to swallow... with the utmost perfect elegance, enough to feed four adult men!

Plates and bowls piled up on a corner of a table, while Corillion - the owner of the place- came and went with an air as exhausted as delighted between the kitchens and his adorable client.  
Artoria Pendragon smiles at him coming back and putting in front of her an appetizing dish in sauce mixing chicken legs and veal meat. "Cinnamon Bush" said the cook, before waiting for her reaction with a few worry. The young knight carried her fork to her lips. Then, one hand on her cheek, smiled with delight:

\- Too good.

The exclamation was greeted by a sigh of comfort from all the spectators. For the keeper, it was understood. The elf was particularly proud of his talent as a cook. That said, Artoria had a strange talent for sharing his culinary happiness with all who watched her.

Between two bites, she made comments:

\- A dish with two white meats, chicken and veal, perfectly in harmony... slowly simmered in white wine... the spice mix is subtle. Cinnamon of course... seeds of paradise?

Corillion agreed and Saber continued his gastronomic criticism:

\- Ginger... cloves... and there is not only white wine in the sauce base... vinegar?  
Corillion nodded:

\- Absolutely, my lady.

When Saber had finished, he placed the empty bowl at the top of the pile.  
\- Master cook, I cannot minimize your talent in my thanks. You excel behind your stoves, believe it. Now, what do you propose for dessert?

Corillion left, charged with a new order.

While Artoria waited while wiping her lips with elegance, a little Japanese girl dressed in a red turtleneck sweater and a short black skirt made her way among the admirers of the knight. With his arms crossed, Rin stood in front of her friend:

\- When I think that I spent the morning in a pile of decayed books and parchments in shreds! All I swallowed was dust...

A slight redness appeared on Saber's cheeks:

\- Uh... and did you find anything?

The Magus had a haughty sniff:

\- Of course I found something! Who do you think you're talking to?

Sitting on the other side of the table, Rin summed up her findings:  
\- There are many documents about Corvus Direnni, but most are books written by generations after him. I have already read them all. I searched for original documents mentioning his death... and I found one, an ancient legend.

She pushed before Artoria some leaves where she had translated a text written in old Aldmeri.

* * *

The kingdom of Rivenspire is a country of old, prosperous and peaceful. Its border was lined with an invisible barrier raised by the archmage Corvus Direnni. Evil could not cross it. It emanated from a Great Blue Crystal with magical properties that were kept in the highest tower of the king's castle. Now one day the Crystal broke in three. Thunder shone and the night was in broad daylight. When the light returned the three fragments had disappeared. The men-at-arms and the king's knights traveled the land to find the crops devastated, the herds decimated by epidemics. In the woods now wandered all kinds of creatures from the night of time. A curse fell on the population of the castle which was decimated. One by one, the knights left the country to try their luck in a more hospitable region. The Magi abandoned their horns and laboratories to disappear forever. Soon, the king found himself surrounded by only a few faithful. He promised a fortune to the hero who would gather the three fragments of the Crystal and venture into the Outer Realms to ask for the help of the Spirit of Corvus Direnni. No one attempted the adventure, the knights having heard that a demon born of all the curses of the world would wander into the Outer Realms and devour the soul of anyone risking in its territory. The old king died of grief. His son reigned some time before being murdered. The Kingdom of Rivenspire fell apart. Weak regents and greedy barons fought over its shreds. Anarchy and disorder replaced the old splendor. The fragments of the Great Blue Crystal created by Corvus Direnni, symbol of the unity of the kingdom, disappeared forever. And similarly Rivenspire was divided into three countries perpetually at war with each other: the Duchy of Verandia, the Duchy of Boralis and the Kingdom of Shornhelm.

* * *

Artoria returned the scroll to Rin:

\- That's not a lot.

\- For you, I suppose the description of the Cristal didn't hit you? It is obviously a very rare morpholith: a Great Stone of Velkyn! In aldmeris "velkyn" means "child of the heavens", these stones are fragments of _Aetherius_, magic crystals cut from meteoritic glass. The scholars who study them say that the ancient Ayleid cities all had them, and that they were the source of all the enchantments of the city. As a fragment of _Aetherius_, they are considered the exact opposite of another type of morpholith, the Sigil Stone, capable of maintaining the stability of a daedric plane. This is confirmed by the legend that the Crystal of Corvus banished evil... no doubt it prevented the Daedras of Oblivion and the undead from wandering in the Primary Material Plane by reinforcing the barriers between the worlds. I believe that Corvus Direnni used the properties of the Great Stone of Velkyn to establish a gateway, a passage between Nirn and the Outer Kingdom where he was later buried.  
Artoria nodded:

\- I understand... if we recover the three fragments and repair this Crystal, the door will open to lead us to the tomb of Corvus... where roam "a demon born of all the curses of the world"...  
The two teenage girls exchanged a look heavy with meaning. This fragment of the legend seemed to them the most telling... Since the Fourth Grail War, Angra Mainyu knew he was vulnerable in Excalibur. He wouldn't let anyone near Corvus' grave.

The Magus sighed:

\- But this does not solve our main problem. Where do we find the three fragments of the Corvus Crystal? They disappeared at least 2,000 years ago.

\- I'm sorry, Rin, I can't help you.

Tohsaka had taken a pensive mine.

\- I believe that exploring the Duchy of Verandia, the Duchy of Boralis and the Kingdom of Shornhelm would be as long and fruitless as trying to empty the Illiac Bay of all these fish. No, I think we should go to Daggerfall. After the Direnni Tower, there are the best archives of all Hight Rock.

Artoria frowned at her:

\- Do you really believe that fragments of crystals can be mentioned in state archives? It includes major events such as wars, royal marriages or famines.

\- Crystals not... but fragments of a _Great Stone of Velkyn_, yes. There is only one left, complete, in the ruins of the city of Miscarande in Cyrodiil. Legions of adventurers tried to seize it, but the lich of the last king of Miscarande and his legions of the undead failed them. Even a broken stone would attract immense greed. Its presence could fuel wars between nations, murders or blood feuds between Magi, not exactly the kind of things we can hide.

The response of Rin Tohsaka darkened Saber. Bringing together the three fragments of the Corvus Crystal was as perilous as it was difficult.

* * *

_Phynaster's stride_ had resumed its course. The caravel was bouncing on the waves, along the southern islands forming the archipelago of Balfiera. The latter spread southwesterly to the coast of Cambria. It would then be enough to follow it to reach the kingdom of Daenia and its capital, Daggerfall.  
Three days after leaving Warwych, the journey had sunk in monotony.

Tired of being shaken by the swell, Rin came to speak with the crew when smoke appeared rising from a hatch. The first to cry fire, she saw the sailors rushing under the command of Captain Kelmen. Saber came to her. Neither of them being competent in the fight against the fire, they were reduced to the role of mere spectators.

Half an hour later, Kelmen came out, carrying something rolled into a blanket:

\- Ladies, please come to my cabin; I have to show you something.

The two girls looked at each other and accompanied the captain. The latter unfolded the fabric revealing a jar of blackened earth and a piece of cloth almost transformed into coal:

\- The fire devastated the lazaret. I found an oil jar just like the ones used to power the lamps. It had nothing to do there. And this rag was used as a fuse... the fire was not accidental; there is a saboteur on board. We don't have enough food left to finish the trip because our reserves have burned down and fresh water comes down to three barrels. Under these conditions, we must stop at the next port.

Captain Kelmen was going to add something, but we knocked on the door. The sailor whispered something to the officer who turned to his guests:

\- The lifeboat disappeared and a ship was seen by the lookout, come on!

Accompanying the captain and sailor, Rin and Artoria joined the rear castle. Kelmen in his hand, staring at the darkness of the night, he handed the instrument to the Magus and pointed a direction:  
\- What do you think of this ship?

Tohsaka shivered involuntarily.. On a cloudy and misty night, any ship would probably have had a sinister appearance. Nevertheless, no light was shining on the rear castle. The sails were in tatters, while seaweed and shellfish were scattered around the hull.

The girl raised her hand and murmured an incantation. The shock in return shook her. DEATH. NON-LIFE. ROT. DECOMPOSITION. DEATH.

\- A ghost ship... necrotic magic tore it from its watery grave and revived the rotting bones of its crew.  
There were whispers among the crew, but Kelmen silenced them.

\- We are three days away from Daggerfall. We are going directly to that port.

* * *

The next day was particularly difficult for Saber. She was known for her appetites and portions were now particularly congruent. Unusually irascible, Artoria evoked in general terms what she thought of saboteurs and traitors. Wherever he was, the crew member who had fled the previous day would probably have been caught in icy chills. It was better not to fall into the hands of a hungry Saber...

At the end of the afternoon, the lookout made a cry of unbelief and terror:

\- Dragon!

Rin and Artoria rushed to the bulwark like all the crew. In the sky was a large green and winged lizard, its head covered with horns and bone tips was much more impressive than that of a wyvern. While hovering, he seemed to be looking south. Suddenly, his voice rolled among the clouds with the force of a thunderbolt:

\- **Strum Bah Qo**! (1)

Immediately, the wind swelled into a hurricane that tore the sails of _The Phynaster's stride_. Lightning fell in every direction striking the water... and the great mast. Horrified, Rin saw the huge log fall on Captain Kelmen before smashing the gunwale and smashing the deck. The hull broke in two, rushing the Magus into the water...

But she did not touch the waves. One hand grabbed her by the wrist. In an instant, Rin Tohsaka found herself swept away like a princess, snuggled in the arms of her protector! A little red on her cheeks, she stares at her savior... Saber. Which ran... on the water!

\- How do you do that? !

Artoria had a little laugh. In spite of the tragic circumstances and the ship that disappeared behind them in the waves, her friend was only thinking of satisfying her curiosity.

\- Viviane not only gave me Excalibur. She blessed me: "No body of water could stand in my way".

* * *

At the speed Artoria could reach in the race, the two young girls reached the coast before dark. Beyond a small beach, there was an area of tall grass planted with trees. There was no sign of intelligent life other than a paved road going from north to south. The storm had stopped, but it was still raining, a fine rain that penetrated the clothes. Fortunately, we were still in summer.  
\- I think we are somewhere in the south of Cambria, murmured Artoria.

Rin glanced at her furiously.

\- You are taking this very calmly.

\- There is no point in pestering bad luck.

\- Is it bad luck?

Saber considers her with serenity:

\- As you saw, this dragon screamed at something to the south. It did not attack us. Its objective was another ship. (2).

Rin reflects for a few moments... before she moans half-way, whispering things half-understandable dooming the dragons to the plague and also not sparing the Blades who had boasted of having exterminated them.

Artoria coughed in her fist:

\- Back on the road, Daggerfall is to the south.

Rin looked at her irately and then sighed and took a good step. But Artoria reminded her:  
\- The south is in the other direction.

Rin came back to her, murmuring even less intelligible things. Saber thought it was probably better not to understand.

* * *

A little before dark, Artoria discovered several sorbs in the plain. These trees bore edible fruit, corms, a kind of small pear. The two girls did not have to go to bed on an empty stomach.  
Rin lit a fire using the rune _Ansuz_ which, as Odin's breathe of life, commanded the flames.

They then took turns to guard. The day rose without incident and they resumed their journey. While Rin and Saber were walking on the paved track, dust indicated the arrival of a vehicle. It was a stage pulled by six horses which stopped when Artoria gave it vigorous signs.

The coachman seemed suspicious, but calmed down before she even spoke by discovering two beautiful teens:

\- What do you want?

\- We are two passengers en route to Daggerfall. Our ship sank during yesterday's storm. We were lucky enough to get to the coast, but we're reduced to walking. Could you help us?  
The driver considered them for a moment:

\- If you have money. There is still a seat in the cabin; otherwise you can travel on the roof.  
Artoria turned to her friend:

\- Rin takes the cabin's seat; I get up on the roof.

They had to pay a rather small sum. The stage was near his terminus, Old Woman's Mill, a small town south of Cambria. They should reach him by nightfall. Fortunately for the two female passengers, there was a connection for Daggerfall who left the next morning.

There were no incidents during the trip or overnight at the Old Woman's Mill Inn. The next day, Rin Tohsaka and Artoria Pendragon showed up at the stagecoach to buy two tickets to Daggerfall. It cost them a lot of the money they had. Indeed, it was a seven-day journey including meals and nights in the relays.

* * *

An hour after the departure of Old Woman's Mill, the stage made a first stop... the way was cut by goblins in arms. Far from being worried, the driver treated with the green humanoids... information taken from the other passengers; this was a toll, a common occurrence on this road and an easy source of income for smart monsters. This was confirmed when the small horrors with rheumy eyes and decayed teeth made pass a plate where everyone had to put a septim.

If Artoria had been alone, she probably would have drawn her sword to attack, but she pressed her teeth. The girl hated robbers, but her chivalrous temperament also led her not to attack the first, nor to endanger the innocent.

During the day, the passengers got to know each other. After all, they didn't have much to do other than discuss. The two most impressive travelers were two brothers: Phillip and Ramer Mercier. They were wearing a Dragon's Order Tabard. Born in the Duchy of Phrygios, the two knights had left their father's domain to go to a chapter of their order in Daggerfall.

Next to them was a merchant from Alcaire called Gondyk Kingston. He was a fat man perpetually sweating and bald. He also went to the terminus and traveled to negotiate a big contract.  
The last man in the group was Alain Rodyn, a priest of the god Magnus who had left Menevia. He was not very communicative.

In front of the men's seats, were the women of the group, Rin and Artoria of course, as well as the only person not to be of Breton's blood. It was a Redguard called Minerva. She was wearing leather armor and carrying a war mace, as well as a circular shield that had been used extensively. Minerva had made no secret of her mercenary job. After fulfilling a contract in the duchy of Phrygios, she returned to Daggerfall, where she lived.

The day went by without incident except for the dust from the road that entered through the windows, the stifling heat and the bumps of the road broken by the passage of the vehicles.  
The inn where the travelers slept that evening looked like the other stagecoaches: dirty, in bad condition, with terrible food and beds as soft as a pile of board. They woke up covered in flea bites.

* * *

The mist that was stagnating on Adner was produced by the lake and the icy morning reminding that, in the mountains, autumn was early. So there was a damp, cold exhalation that made the bones shiver. The small Breton town built on an iron mine was nothing like a powerful fortress. Its garrison reached barely two hundred fighters carrying the tabard of the Duchy of Gavaudon.  
The Bretons who had gathered on the walls saw their death advance towards them in the form of a ram directed towards the gates. The sticky moisture hung on to the freshly skinned skins that covered its mobile casemate. How to burn it in such conditions?

The miners threw incendiary grenades, simple pots of earth filled with naphtha, on the assailants who pushed ladders and a siege tower towards the ramparts. The explosions spread the atrocious torment of flames among rows of goblins dressed in furs and clad in rusty pieces of equipment.  
Goblins' bowmen equipped with bad bows made of goats' horns drew a flock of short arrows fletched with raven feathers. The strokes broke on the battlements and the Brétons' heater shield. Their crossbows fought back. Gaping breaches opened in the rush of green bodies pressing at the feet of the walls. Nevertheless, others were still arriving, an inexhaustible flood that inflated the crowd of creatures already present in the ancient glaciated valley.

The iron hooks of the seat ladders hung on to the crenellations and a swarm of goblins rose to the assault. At the top, they made acquaintance with the halberds of the Bretons. They had drunk a lot the day before in anticipation of the attack. They had sung old songs about chivalrous exploits, dragon-killing heroes and imprisoned princesses, _chansons de geste_ and knight tales. They were at peace and seized by the strange exaltation of those who know they will die!

Hundreds of goblins rushed to confront only sixty men-at-arms. Nothing could have prepared them for the fury of the defenders. The green skins fell down screaming, spraying those who came up with their blood. Some Bretons were well killed, but for one that collapsed ten goblins knew the death. Some attackers who arrived on the walls let themselves fall into the void, terrified by the fury of the defenders. Others dropped their weapons before reaching the ladders and began to run towards the bottom of the valley.

The mocking cries of the Bretons and theirs laughers accentuated the panic of the attackers. They left behind a floor littered with corpses.

* * *

It was only the first assault. Already, rude horns and tam-tams were sounding their exalted saraband.  
The ram had continued to advance and its head swayed for the first time before hitting the iron-clad oak door and making it resound. From a tube above the leaf came a whirlwind of liquid flames. The goblins that pressed near the war machine were splashed and ignited in an instant. However, the ram was content to smoke slightly while a chain of green skins sprayed it with buckets of water drawn from the nearby lake.

Facing the wall that had previously been staggered, a stream of spider-riders came along. These goblins mounted monstrous arthropods with eight legs and eight eyes; their mere presence sowed fear among the defenders. However, since the towers the crossbows and the light trebuchets pulling started a hell of a fire. The bolts pierced the goblins; the incendiary grenades charred the monsters. Only a few spiders arrived at the feet of the walls. Spitting a long stream of silk at the crenellations, they woven strong ropes and began to climb. Stones and boiling oil welcomed them and many of these horrors fell to the ground before turning on their backs and dying frantically waving their legs. Only two spiders arrived on the way round. Despite their paralyzing venom, they were surrounded by the men-at-arms who cut them to pieces.

The siege tower had also approached, in spite of the multiple crossbows which now bristling it. The drawbridge made of thick loose joists fell on the rampart. The Bretons who defended this sector were mere miners who used their tools, mine bars and picks as weapons. They recoiled as they saw a stream of spotted orcs come ashore, swaying in the armor of orichalch clad in spikes, and holding up improbable-shaped scimitar.

In an instant, it was carnage. The miners were too poorly armed and protected to face such enemies. They had already lost the middle of the section of the wall, between two towers, when reinforcements arrived. These knights surrounded the Baron d'Adner, recognizable by the green and blue toril (3), which surrounded his ornate helmet. All of them wore magnificent full steel plates' armor, their family's coat-of-arm kite shield in on hand, the other holding a sword.

The attackers who dared approach collapsed and the violence of the fight doubled. Even though the orcs were more numerous and still receiving reinforcements, their advance stopped and from time to time one could see a warrior tipping into a void after a last cry of fear.  
The ram, however, continued to bludgeon the door. Each blow shook it more and made it vibrate like a gong. The massive brackets on which the flaps were pivoting threatened to break in spite of the defenders who were trying to strengthen them. The wooden bars that closed it were starting to crack.

A more violent shock threw the defenders to the ground who were bending over the door, and then a squeak of bad omen preceded its fall.

Some were crushed; the others gathered, grabbed their wars masses and tightened their ranks to form a wall of shields.

The ram retreated to make way for a rush of wolf assemblers. These goblins loaded cemeteries with fist. The _massiers_ (4) received the shock, shoulders against shoulders, smashing the wolf heads with their weapons, repelling fangs and blades from their shields. In the vault of the door, machicolations were discovered. Boiling oil, heavy stones and Greek fire fell among the monster riders. The carnage caused the aggressors to stumble. However, a flood of foot-soldiers: lancers; swordsmen; archers, replaced them, drained by the breach.

The _massiers_ fought as long as they could. Their lines folded and disintegrated. Some died there; others took refuge in houses, or were swept away by the tide of green skins. The doors of the defense towers were attacked by some axes bearers and crushed. The crossbowmen fought on the stairs and eventually succumbed. The goblins took the defenders on the ramparts from behind. Some groups surrounded fought for hours. The glorious exploits of these defenders were never to be celebrated in High Rock because there were no survivors to tell them.

By evening, the city was burning and the ground was covered with dead… two hundred Bretons had taken with them more than two thousand goblins and orcs. From the fate of the non-combatants, decency commands me not to speak. However, it was terrible because the conquerors made the innocent pay for the resistance that had been opposed to them. However, these sacrifices were of no use. The long snake of migrating hordes continued to spread in the valley. More and more tribes were responding to the call of Angra Mainyu, whose power was growing. After the kingdom of Menevia, the duchy of Gavaudon was in turn invaded.

* * *

(1) Thunderstorm/ Fury/ Lightning in _Dovahzor_ (the language of dragons). These are the three power words of the shout "Torment" which invokes the power of the storm. It is an effect of the _Thu'um_ or "voice art" the magic proper to dragons.

(2) The one where was... Shiro Emiya (see chapter 9). A small clue as to who tried to eliminate Shiro. There's only one dragon in Illiac Bay and he's the familiar of a witch.

(3) "Crown" of a baron, formed of two strips of interwoven fabric.

(4) Elite men-at-arms who use of flanged steel war maces. The flanges can dent or penetrate thick armour. Let's not talk about the tiny skulls of goblins... here are some who have found a definitive cure for migraine.


	12. Chapter 12 Death on your Tail

**Death on your tail**

**Note from the author: Like the two previous chapters, the following text continues the odyssey, worthy of that of Ulysses, Rin Tohsaka and Artoria Pendragon around the Illiac' Bay. Hence an important question: what is the distance between Wayrest (the point of departure) and Daggerfall (the point of arrival)? Well, the area of the map of The Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall was estimated by the players to be about 346 368 km² or the area of Germany. The two cities must therefore be separated by something like 750 km. A distance that can be crossed in one to two weeks by sea, depending on whether the winds are favorable or not and in 35 days of diligence, by land. And yes, in an hour's car drive, you're doing the equivalent of three days of stagecoach and six days of walking.**

* * *

A stage or, to be more exact, a "stagecoach" is a huge car pulled by six horses and able to board eight passengers, a driver and a postillion. Weighing more than a ton, the stage had neither glass nor copper lanterns. The former being replaced by simple leather curtains, and there was no need for the latter.  
In theory, the stagecoach could travel up to 80 km a day... when the rain was not getting in the way. Otherwise, passengers had to walk next to or even push. The average could fall to less than 20 kilometers per day.

The daily distance was an important feature of due diligence. Because, far more than passengers, their main source of revenue came from the transport of mail and a letter had to arrive at its destination before its contents lost any interest.

No doubt this explains the strong swearing of the coachman when one of the spokes of the front wheel broke on a donkey's back.

Fortunately, the stagecoach was carrying a spare copy. Phillip and Ramer Mercier, the two Dragon Knights assisted the driver in replacing the damaged wheel. Saber had offered his help, but the two aristocrats refused vehemently. They probably thought that worthy knights couldn't let a woman work... With her eyes hardened, her face frozen, Artoria replied that she too was a knight and that it came before, long before, the fact that she was a woman.

Nevertheless, the girl did not renew her offer, choosing to walk along the road, probably to ventilate her anger.

The stagecoach had been forced to stop in a dangerous place, a defile designed for the passage of the road by the imperial legionnaires and prisoners of war. In three centuries of weather and frost, the two cliffs cut with pickaxe and mine bar had cracked and unstable blocks threatened to break away. Of course, there was little chance that a landslide would occur just when the check mark was stopped...  
Except that Rin and Saber were pursued by all the curses of the world...

The knight had only time to warn, seeing the first blocks come loose and bounce back on the slope, drawing more rocks that ricocheted in the middle of the dust and pebbles. The two knights, still young, reacted vividly. The coachman also avoided the rocks... Alas, horses could not be asked to remain calm while large stones fell around them. They wanted to escape... except that with one less wheel the coach could not go very far. There was a crack like the jack lifting the vehicle broke... before it fell back on the driver.

Artoria had rushed. Nevertheless, at first glance, she understood that there was nothing left to do. Only the top of the man's body came out from under the stage and a pool of blood quickly expanded.  
In spite of the red fluid oozing in his lips, the coachman stared at Saber with an imploring gaze while trying to speak. She stuck her ear to her mouth and caught a few words: "Not... an accident... of men... on the cliff... caused the..." it exhaled without ending, but there was no need for a great imagination to complete.

The driver was buried at the side of the road. The wheel was changed and, after the postillion had taken the driver's seat, the coach departed.

Sitting in the cabin next to Rin, Artoria looked discreetly at the other passengers. They had been tried to kill them... Saber understood that an ordinary coach was attacked to rob it. Nevertheless, she couldn't make any sense of this attack except... unless we wanted to stop her from finding Excalibur.

* * *

Before evening they reached the village of Oxwich. It was a grouping of a few houses around a central street. Apart from the inn which served as stagecoach, there was only one general store, not even a temple.

The relay was called "The Red Mountain Ash". It was a shabby and shaky building. The floor of the main hall had not been swept for ages, and the tavern smelled of stale beer, grease and sweat, a stir that gave nausea to anyone entering this wretched move.

It was not the worst hostel on the road... but if Rin Tohsaka were to make a guide on the subject one day, she would give him a special price. While the keeper, a little one-eyed Breton with a deceitful air, led her to the room she was going to share with Artoria, the young woman felt faint at the sight of his scullion clothes of a filthy filth. Here's their cook for this stage...

As for the rooms... the floor was creaking, the beds were wobbly and the mice fled into the corridor when the visitors arrived.

As the owner of the "Red Mountain Ash" moved away, Rin dropped herself in a chair:  
\- This trip is killing me.

The comeback was humorous. Nevertheless, Saber became slightly tense:

\- Rin... you don't think you can say.

In a few words, the King of the Knights repeated what the driver had told her before he died and her own conclusions. Tohsaka did not seem surprised. With her chin in her fist, she looked at the floor with a thoughtful air:

\- Our enemies found us very soon after the shipwreck of _The Phynaster's stride_. There are two equally disturbing possibilities.

She lifted the forefinger:

\- Either Angra Mainyu is following us, probably by magic...

Rin raised the middle finger:

\- Either it has a widespread organization throughout Hight Rock... maybe both... the magic to locate us, and agents everywhere to mount ambushes, sabotage our vehicles or attack us at the relays.

Saber showed a troubled face, but soon resumed her calm. She was going to speak when they knocked on the door. It was the owner who returned with a tray on which were placed two bowls of... something undefined that was swimming in a cloudy and greasy broth. He put down what should be their... meal (?).

\- Enjoy your meal!

He left. Leaving his two clients rather uncomfortable... The food (?) in the plates seemed to want to flee, no doubt offended by having been so badly treated by the so-called cook. Saber looked the most miserable in the world:

\- I've never missed Shiro so much...

The young knight's feelings followed a most strange path. The fastest way to reach her heart was through the stomach. That said that evening, Rin understood her perfectly:

\- Well, let's stay positive, it may not be as bad as it sounds... after all it would be difficult.

The Magus had just picked up the cutlery and was about to swing a fork into the... "thing" when Saber grabbed her wrist with enough vigor for her friend to make a little cry.

\- Rin... this could be even less edible than you think.

With her finger, the female knight showed a drop of yellow-green liquid on the tray:

\- Could you do a structural analysis of this product?

After a hesitation, Tohsaka stretched her hand above the plate, the eyelids closed to concentrate better:  
\- _Strukturanalyse_!

She opens her eyes abruptly, her skin taking the shade of chalk:

\- It is... a green bay distillate and giant scorpion venom from the Alik'r Desert! A deadly poison! Who... who?

As she became confused, unable to express herself in her retrospective fear, Artoria took her in her arms, rubbing her shoulders:

\- One of the passengers of the coach.

\- Who?

Slowly repelling her, Saber spoke to her calmly:

\- That's not important. We have to leave.

\- Now?

Artoria nodded gracefully:

\- Yes, immediately, before anyone tries to kill us again. The enemy knows our presence on the stagecoach. It follows a determined path, at predictable stops, which gives it too many opportunities to strike.

Artoria had not left her armor and her belongings, some objects purchased along the way, were held in a bag. She gathered everything before helping Rin to do the same.

The hallway and stairs were empty. Laughter and discussion were heard in the main room. An unattractive smell came from the kitchen and Saber made an effort to repel the vengeful fantasy of setting fire to it. As no one had noticed, the King of the Knights opened a service door. Outside, night reigned. There were lights on the windows, but the residents would probably not come out until the next morning.

Now what do we do?

A soldier of Daenia stood, leaning on his halberd, in front of the guard tower at the entrance of the village. You shouldn't have gone past him... even if he didn't stop them, he'd remember them. There were four days of travel to Daggerfall... in a stagecoach. Out of the question of walking, too slow, it would give the enemy time to organize a chase and they could not escape.

Taking Rin by the arm, Saber went around the inn. Yes... at the entrance, a saddled horse was tied to a ring near the door. No doubt one of the tavern's regulars came from a nearby farm.

\- Have you ever ridden a horse?

\- Yes, but...

\- Later!

Glancing at the window and the door, from where the light was filtered and the conversations were deafened, Saber shortened the length of the stirrups, went up, and then and set up her friends in front of her. At the trot, she pushed their horse towards the exit of the village. They had just reached the last houses, when a furious voice rose:

\- To the thief!

Saber bit her lower lip... "King Arthur, paragon of chivalry". Her whole life was a lie. She had let the Saxons destroy villages filled with innocent people because it gave her the time to gather her troops and prepare her counterattack... so steal a horse, it certainly wasn't the worst she ever did.

* * *

Almost a day after their escape from Oxwich, the horse stolen in front of the inn was trotting on a side road of the kingdom of Daenia. According to Artoria's estimates, despite the weight of the two young women who weighed down the mount, less than three days of travel remained until Daggerfall. Suddenly, a terrified voice came up from the lower side of the road:  
\- Help, help, help!

As if electrified by the call, Saber spells it out to throw their mount towards the trees and thickets bordering the trail. Rin opened her mouth to appeal to her friend's reason, but closed it without saying a word. A glance over her shoulder had allowed her to recognize the air of valiant determination that Artoria displayed when she did what her knight's oath asked.

In fact, since the day before, Saber had hardly spoken. She was living very badly for having stolen a peasant's horse. Despite the fact that it was the best choice in light of the circumstances and stakes - nothing less than the resurrection of Angra Mainyu- the knights' oath did not authorize theft. The King of the Two Bretagne had slept very badly... reliving once again the clash against Mordred on the Red Hill of Camlann... as often when the doubts returned to haunt her.

The call for help came at the opportune moment to lighten the burden on her heart, giving her the opportunity to fulfill her duty to help others.

The horse mounted by the two young women appeared in a small clearing on the ground trampled. Their arrival froze a most curious scene. Goblins surrounded two knights in chain mail. One of them, leaning on a tree, tried to pull out a beautiful silver spear, inlaid with runes, which pierced him. It carried on the chest the coat of arms of the Order of the Dragon. The second remained frozen, face down... death or few needed. Given his green tabard, he must have belonged to the same chivalrous order than the other knight.

What the hell happened?

A goblin attack? However, the humanoids seemed more terrified than aggressive. Their rusted and chipped weapons were not soaked in blood, unlike the sword lying at the foot of the impaled knight. The scarlet drops in the grass connected him to the second knight, as if he had struck him.  
The goblins quivered in their primitive language, making signs towards the impaled man. They seemed to want to explain something... except that Artoria didn't understand a word.

\- Rin, takes care of the knight down!

The young woman jumped from the horse and ran to the still man. Alas, she shook her head immediately, he was beyond all help. As Artoria stopped her mount to set foot on the ground, the goblins intervened. Saber hesitated. Having previously faced them, she obviously had some hostility towards these filthy, grotesque humanoids dressed in herds. However, they were not at all belligerent. In fact, she felt that they were trying to warn her against the wounded knight... whom they looked at with fear.

Artoria shook his head:

\- Enough, this man needs immediate care. I warn you that I cannot allow you to interfere.

Whether or not they understood her words, they understood her intention when she put her hand on her sword handle. With cries of fear, they fled. Disturbed by their reaction, but happy that the situation was resolved without violence; Artoria knelt beside the knight to examine it.

Apparently unable to speak, he was however conscious and twisted in pain. The King of Brittany's island grabbed the spear with two hands. The shaft was strangely lukewarm, conveying a feeling of palpable power... an enchanted weapon!

Using the _Mana Burst_, Saber effortlessly pulled the weapon out before leaning over the wound. However, a feeling of discomfort seized her as a buzzing sound similar to that of a swarm of furious bees rose crescendo.

Two things happened simultaneously.

First, Artoria discovered that not a drop of blood was leaking from the wound...

Then, an explosion of pain burst into her head. Only her resistance to magic prevented her from collapsing under this psychic attack!

A hand held tight on her forehead, the knight stood back. She then looked at the face of the enemy... to discover that her features were _melting_! The eyes were now red chasms that radiated the frightening mental power that hammered her brain with increasing waves of pain.

Artoria struck with what she held in her hand... the enchanted spear that had held the monster immobilized. The young woman's fighting instinct blew her mind; her opponent was not one of the mortals. It emanated from him the cold stench of the living dead coming out of the tomb. However, the runic weapon pulsated with comforting warmth, communicating strength and courage.

Touched, the monster howled and staggered. A horrible transformation seized him. His flesh and skin retracted and scraped together, transforming him in a hideous way. What Saber was now staring at was the face of a corpse with shredded muscles and visible bones. The clawed fingers radiated with reddish vapors.

\- A lich!

The frightened voice of Tohsaka shook Artoria who had for a moment released his attention. Lichs were ancient necromancers versed in the dark arts who had transformed themselves into undead to experience some form of immortality. They were usually found at the end of legendary quests in the underground or ancient ruins, surrounded by legions of skeletons and other zombies... not in the woods, near a road!

The monster's hideous cry terrorized the fleeing horse. The lich leaped forward, but its claws were blocked by a swift parade. Saber counterattacked with the same speed and Rin remained with her arm raised, unable to cast a spell because of the too fast confrontation. The adversaries were no longer visible except as fuzzy shapes throughout the clearing, clashing here and there, amidst bursts of energy and sparks.

When we talk about fencing, we think of the sword, of course, but there is actually fencing for the mace, the spear, the halberd, the axe, the dagger... in fact, most weapons.

It can be said that the level in the art of combat attained by an individual depends on two factors: training and physical abilities. For, no matter how much time is spent in training, an individual is bound to be limited by his own abilities.

Whatever the weapon was in the combatant's hands, he had a choice between games that focused either on strength, speed or agility. The fighter therefore had to focus on mastering the methods that were most compatible with his own abilities.

Artoria Pendragon was not without reason entered the legend under the name of King Arthur. At the Battle of Camlann, having lost Excalibur to the attack of Mordred, she had killed her with a single blow from her Rhongomyniad spear. Her retaliation pierced in on fell swoop the robust armor and shattered the helmet of her "son".

From her dragon core flowed a veritable _prana_ tidal wave that strengthened her muscles and bones, improving his reflexes, providing him with insurmountable endurance. In addition, her fighting instinct literally allowed her to predict the future. That was his innate abilities. As for achievements, she had been trained since childhood by superhuman masters themselves, like Merlin. Saber had then spent more than a decade fighting giants and dragons like fighting battles and jousts against the greatest human champions.

It was almost impossible to imagine a better mix of skills and experience. She excelled in all techniques.  
However, Artoria struggled in her fight against the lich. In fact, since his arrival on Nirn, it was the most dangerous opponent to have faced her. The undead monster seemed animated by an energy coming from an Outer Kingdom.

Around them the vegetation withered, flowers and ferns browned becoming brittle before crumbling into brown powder. The lich drained all the living energy around it. As the knight had just opened a new wound in its chest, Saber literally saw the wound close before her eyes, healed by the life that the monster was stealing.

The necrotic abomination raised its hand and a red lightning bolt appeared. Artoria dodged it but felt the negative energy that emanated from the attack... antithesis of life itself.  
The lich stopped for a moment while Saber was on guard again. Then a decomposed claw rose pointing a long bone claw at the knight's corpse on the ground. A stream of bluish energy enveloped the dead man who stood up moaning.

Rin Tohsaka intervened, drawing a runic S in the air:

\- _Sigel_!

The rune of lightning and luminosity was the antithesis of the undead, the zombie wrapped itself in blue fire and sought to escape, terrified by the radiant symbol. Fortunately, it was ashes after only a few meters. Unfortunately, the lich was simply too powerful to be bothered.

Artoria narrowed her eyes. The brief combat had amply demonstrated the enemy's capabilities. To allow the confrontation to continue would inevitably lead to their defeat. Neither she nor Rin were immune to the monster's necrotizing corruption or had any connection to a dark world that fueled their power. They would eventually weaken when their enemy could count on infinite energy.  
The silver spear seemed to have the ability to sever the link between the lich and the Outer Kingdom upon which it depended. It had to be impaled and let the runic weapon drain it of its power. What the original possessor of the spear had done.

The next assault was so rapid that the two opponents left behind a whirlwind of dust before meeting in the middle of the clearing in a sound shock. No ordinary human could have told what had happened. In any case, Artoria managed to plant her weapon in the lich's shoulder.

The attack had succeeded... Unfortunately the abomination from the grave remained strong. Contorting itself while scratching the face of it enemy with one hand, it managed to tear itself from the spearhead that pierced it. Blinded by the blood that flowed over her eyes, Saber retreated.  
On the other side, the monster was weakened, but already the energy of non-life healed its wounds. As usual, the instinct of the King of Knights led her to adopt the best solution, press the attack before the opponent recovers.

The spear was spinning, cutting, slashing, piercing... it was a deluge of attacks repelling the lich. However, as the latter retaliated with red lightnings, Saber had no choice but to jump back to avoid them. Rin intervened, sacrificing one of her biggest soul gems:

\- _Spiegel von Shalidor_!

The air before the hand of the Magus became blurred like a circle formed by a mist of heat. Although stated in German, the language still used by Rin in her _Magecraft_, we could see the effect of an enchantment of the Seventh Circle, the most powerful of Nirn's defensive spells: "the mirror of Shalidor"!

The red lightnings broke on the defensive shield or were sent back to their source. In front, for the first time, the lich hesitated... Its wounds were numerous and its own spells being returned to it, it was weakening. Yet, in spite of everything, the monster still dominated the fight.

Saber took a look at her friend. Her breath was gasping, her face full of sweat... it was obvious that the use of such a powerful spell was tiring her.

The King of the Knights leapt forward, but the undead dodged her first blow, while its claws tore her coat of mail to bring forth blood. At the same time, the lich used its dreadful mental power to paralyze her.

Slowed down, Artoria failed to block the next blow and just managed to avoid getting her head ripped off. However, the monster's claws opened her shoulder.

\- _Gand_r!

A rain of black projectiles haloed with red struck the lich, forcing it to retreat. Saber took advantage to attack again. This time, the knight threw her weapon. The rune lance described a perfect trajectory and pierced the monster in the chest, lifting it from the ground before impaling it to a trunk. The monster, impotent as a butterfly pinned in a collection, contorted without succeeding in pulling the weapon.

Artoria, bloodied, drained, stood only by an effort of will. She was not far from total exhaustion. "Nice shot" remarked Tohsaka. The knight hesitated for a moment while watching the monster who continued to struggle. It would certainly take a long time for the energy of the lich to be exhausted. Waiting here was too dangerous but the King of Britain hesitated to abandon the only effective weapon against such monsters.

Rin listened to her friend express her doubts and then smiled.

\- We will end this horror.

The Magus raised her left sleeve and its Magic Crest appeared in the form of some kind of labyrinth of green light as drawn on the skin of her forearm. Reciting incantations, Rin used liquefied soul gems to draw a magic circle around the tree where the lich was impaled.

Attentive, Saber recognized some of the signs her friend had drawn, the runes _Algiz_, _Nauthiz_, _Ansuz_, _Inguz_ and _Sigel_. When it stopped, the lich howled, wrapped in blue and white flames. "What did you do" asked the King of the Knights. "A circle of imprisonment coupled with a circle of protection against the undead."

It took almost half an hour for the monster to crumble into ashes and cease to exist forever.

* * *

**Notes of the author:**

**I am quite happy with this episode. Especially for the fight against lich, but it must seem rather strange to you. It must be said that I combine the magic of the Elder Scrolls and the peculiarities of this universe with certain rules of the Fate's universe. So I had to think about what would win (questionable choice, I don't deny it). In order not to overload the narration, I have left a few points in the shadows and the following notes are intended to clarify them.**

**\- Runes and rune lance: The runes used by Rin come from the Fateverse and here refer to the magic writing invented by Odin and transmitted to men by Scathach and Sigurd. The runic lance comes from the Elders Scrolls; "runes" here simply means "magic inscriptions". Apart from a vaguely similar appearance, these two types of runes have nothing in common.**

**-Saber's instinct drives her to use the runic spear against the lich rather than her ordinary steel sword... which saves her life! In the first TES (up to TES IV: Oblivion) some supernatural beings are immune to the damage of steel and iron weapons (not enchanted). Moreover, in TES II, this prevention is even stricter. Thus, a steel weapon even enchanted only does the damage of its enchantment. Fortunately, the rune lance is made of silver, the first metal capable of hurting this kind of creature. As you will see later, this invulnerability extends even to the **_**Noble Phantasms**_**. So Kanshou and Bakuya, weapons of steel, cannot hurt a spectrum or a ghost (immaterial creatures) and this despite their **_**strong affinity against monsters**_**. See these immunities as an equalizer; it would be too easy for "strangers" from the Fateverse to sweep everything in their path if the **_**Noble Phantasms**_** were considered exempt from this rule. Excalibur, a steel weapon, however was made from m**_**eteoritic**_** iron (several legends assert it and I considered them to be right). Meteoritic iron, coming from **_**Aetherius**_** \- the world of stars and planets, magical or even divine in the universe of TES- is capable of affecting supernatural creatures normally immune to steel weapons.**

**\- The fight with the lich was victorious only through the cooperation between Rin and Artoria, however the magic circle filled with runes far exceeds what could normally be done by a Fate Magus. It is a magic circle with **_**two**_** effects and using **_**five**_** runes. Given the way runic magic works, it is difficult to combine very different effects. As for the simultaneous use of more than four runes, it seems impossible for a modern mage. In addition, Rin improvises ritual and magic circle in just a few minutes to affect a creature resistant to magic (runes normally only affect creatures with little resistance to magic). Even Scathach would be impressed. However... it all makes sense. The ritual is short because Rin uses her **_**Magic Crest**_** to simplify it. It affects a creature resistant to magic, but there are two reasons. First, according to the description of the runes in Fate, it is a divine magic. So, on Earth, it was weakened after the end of the Age of the Gods. But, Nirn is a world where the gods are always present... so (logically) the runes must regain all their original power. This also explains that it is possible to combine runes more easily or to obtain more complex effects. Second, Rin used liquefied soul gems to form the magic circle (in the same way as in the circle used to summon Archer in Fate). These gems contain souls of powerful creatures... enough to create several spells of rank A, or (combined) an EX rank spell. We can also add that the runic lance punctures the magic of the lich, a hemorrhage that would otherwise be sufficient to kill it if it prolonged.**

**Sorry for the long explanation, but it is necessary to understand how I combine the magic of the two universes.**

**Feel free to comment. I am open to dialogue.**


	13. Chapter 13 First Shard

**First Shard**

Shiro Emiya didn't remember how he got there.

Around him are swords...

In this barren landscape of red ash under clouds of smoke, the swords formed a real sea of metal that shone faintly under the light of the two moons Masser and Secunda.  
Swords of all kinds, some rudimentary, others as adorned as coronation's swords, inhabited a kingdom of rubble. You could see them lining up as far as the gaze looked, like gravestones from a cemetery.  
There was nothing in this kingdom, nothing but the smell of fire, red ashes kneaded by a dying wind. A kingdom that housed infinity of weapons planted in the ground under a sky of smoke and fiery cinders below a big red moon and a smaller green moon.

Dominating this lifeless landscape, a colossal mountain... a volcano... the Red Mountain...  
Shiro remembered seeing this landscape in a dream, except it had never seemed so real. A dream, was it a dream?

He felt called to this desolate place. He felt closeness... an identity... This place was forged from a memory of his second childhood. Talus Sepronius, the officer of the Imperial Legion who had been his father in this world, was then stationed on the volcanic island of Vvardenfell. On a journey he had taken Shiro to the Asheland, the region north of Maar Gan. The child then discovered the ash desert and the immense volcano that dominated the island, a landscape that had profoundly marked it, as if it resonated powerfully with something inside it.

Nevertheless, there was no sword cemetery on Vvardenfell. Shiro was elsewhere...

He tore the closest blade from the ground, recognizing it even as he touched it. The weapon was called _Ceymallari_, it had belonged to Imrahil, warlock king of Ceyatarn.

The swords that surrounded him... he recognized them all... in this life or the previous, he had seen and understood them all.

Replanting _Ceymallari_ in the ground, Shiro resumed his lead amidst red rock cliffs and ash dunes. He climbed up to the volcano... guided by a call.

A huge mound of red dust stood in front of him. Something was shining with a golden brilliance...  
Unconsciously, he started running. It was... it was... Excalibur!

The blade slipped into its beautiful enameled gold sheath rested on an altar covered with a cloth of the same blue as Saber's dress. The legendary sword was watched over by a worn-out alabaster statue weakened by wind erosion...

On a human scale, the sculpture depicted his Fifth Grail War Servant in his armor-dress. Shiro recognized every stroke of the delicate face and every strand of her hair... her little heart shaped mouth, her big eyes, the mat sagively wrapped in the back of her head and held tight by a ribbon, The rebellious _ahoge_ who showed up above the fringe that hid her forehead.

His Servant..

Saber...  
The love of his life...

The alabaster statue represented purity, hope, life in a red world that otherwise told only suffering, death, loneliness, malaise and despair.

Like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Focused on the stone face, Shiro heard a voice carried by the wind:

_I'm the bone of..._

_Steel is my... and... is my blood_

Suddenly, an excruciating pain passed through his chest. Shocked, Shiro discovered a blood-soaked blade that was emerging from his chest. At that moment, he screamed with pain as another sword pierced him... then another... in an instant dozens of weapons came out of his shoulders, his back and his thighs... The teenager felt his conscience blur. A last thought stay afloat in the midst of agonizing suffering... his body and soul were in fact a heap of swords... and it's wanted to come out.

* * *

The room was bathed in darkness. Daylight filtered slightly between the shutters to illuminate a small alchemy lab and an enchanting pentacle, a glass library, a table with a flower pot and a bed.  
At this moment, the form under the sheets arched to wake up from a jump...  
In a horrible nightmare, the adolescent with red hair carried his hand to his chest looking for the phantasmatic blades that stabbed him. Gasping, his face covered with sweat, he opened horrified eyes to look around him.

It took him a few seconds to recognize the room... yes; he was in a small house belonging to Brisienna Magnessen, the Emperor's agent in Daggerfall. Forced to flee from assassins, Lady Brisienna had given him the key to this property so that he could live there during his investigation into the death of King Lysandus.

He got up to look at himself in the mirror above the wash basin. His face was pale. However, he sighed when he saw that no sword pierced him. He sprinkled himself with cold water, still trembling from the horrible nightmare.

No, it was more than that...

_I'm the bone of..._

_Steel is my... and... is my blood_

Shiro still heard the voice... no... his voice... this incantation. _I'm the bone of_... He frowned. What I am? He remembered what Rin Tohsaka had told him, literally in another life, his _origin_ as his _element _was sword, which made him an _Incarnation_. Also his _Magecraft_ was so oriented towards the _Tracing_ of swords that he could hardly use any form of magic. Emperor Uriel had sent magi from the academy to train him. Nevertheless, despite all his efforts, they could never teach him any elementary spell. The fire, the lightning, the ice completely eluded him. He could invoke weapons from Oblivion's plans... but it had only served him to add them to his collection. They also tried to teach him about invocation of creature. After a thousand difficulties, Shiro had hardly succeeded in summoning a scamp... the weakest daedra. According to his teacher... he had to use nearly eight times the magic energy normally required for such a simple invocation!

He was only really made to draw swords.

Swords... of course!

Shiro shook his head and came out of the bedroom to stand in the middle of the living room. There he stretched his hand over a circular carpet near the dining table:

\- _I'm the bone of my sword !_

Shiro felt a weak current of energy crossing his Magic Circuits. Almost by reflex, he invoked _Ceymallari_. The ayleid sword materialized immediately... faster than it had ever made a blade appear.  
Shiro tried to remember the lessons of Kiritsugu and Rin in _Magecraft_. In thaumaturgy, the incantation only serves to self-hypnotize. He hesitated... aware that he was about to make a crucial discovery, but also uncomfortable... The vision of this desert of red sand had made him understand how much pain and grief he carried in him. This inner world reflected the sense of injustice he had felt since the day of the fire that devastated Fuyuki at the end of the Fourth Grail War. He had survived and he had since been carrying a deep anguish... Why him? Why only he, Shiro, receive the right to live?

The smile and tears of Kiritsugu when he had plucked him from the burning ashes of the ruins seemed to him the most beautiful thing. The joy of helping another became his only joy... until he met Saber.

In his heart, Shiro knew that his former Servant was in this world with him. But the years went by without finding the one he loved. The emptiness and anguish that this solitude left him were filled only by a graveyard of swords and red ashes... swords that grew in his soul, invaded his dreams, seeking to come out.

He felt that the more space he gave his blades to grow in him... the less space he would have left to be a man, to be the man who loved Artoria.

\- I am a man...

_I'm the bone of my sword_

_Steel is my... and... is my blood_

\- I am a man; I am not a sword...

But his inner voice didn't care for his laughable efforts.

_I'm the bone of my sword_

_Steel is my body and... is my blood_

\- I am a man, I am a man, I am a man!

_I'm the bone of my sword_

_Steel is my body and fire is my blood_

The _Incarnation_ nature of Shiro Emiya slowly continued to erode his humanity. Nevertheless, standing on an altar in front of the statue of Artoria Pendragon, Excalibur continued to shine with golden light and to call. Normally, Shiro's power shouldn't have allowed him to copy a _Last Phantasm_. He could not even copy weapons with a divine attribute like Vajra, or Ea -which he had seen used by Gilgamesh. But the amber-eyed blacksmith had a particular connection to this legendary weapon.

-_Shiro, I am your sword and you are my sheath_, murmured a clear soprano, a high voice, burning with an interior fire.

Amidst the eternal ashes of this graveyard of swords, an indestructible bond resisted erosion.

* * *

A little recovered from the morning emotions, Shirou was investigating... clumsily. In fact, he was turning around in the city, carrying the bundles of elderly women, helping out the forge, giving alms to the needy that were holding out their wallets in front of the temples of Mara and Auriel, going to get ingredients for the Magi of the Guild, or hunted monsters in the campaign for the Warrior Guild.  
Six days after his arrival, the teenager was already known. His figure wearing black leather armor adorned with the imperial dragon, under a red top and a hood of the same color appeared wherever anyone needed help.

The amber-eyed young man was tireless in assisting anyone who asked him to. Without neglecting his mission, for he asked everyone questions about King Lysandus.

Lady Brisienna Magnassen had not been able to help him much. Despite years on the scene and all the agents of the Blades who had investigated before him, she had learned virtually nothing.

The Illac's Bay saw three major powers in opposition. First, two Bretons nations: the Kingdom of Daenia to the west, the Kingdom of Menevia to the east. To the south was the Redguards' Kingdom of Hammerfell.

Until the year 402 of the Third Era - fifteen years earlier - the island of Bretonniy, south of Daenia had been independent, although economically linked to Hammerfell. Nevertheless, seeking a protection for his little kingdom, the lord of the island ends up swearing allegiance to king Lysandus of Daenia.

The island of Bretonny immediately became a bone of contention between King Lysandus and King Camaron of Hammerfell.

Despite Lysandus' willingness to seek a peaceful solution to the conflict, war broke out. After several triumphs of the Bretons, King Camaron landed in High-Rock. This led to the Battle of the Field of Cryngaine.  
The two kings, Lysandus and Camaron, died during the clash which ended however on a decisive victory of Daenia. Gothryd, the son of Lysandus, was crowned at Daggerfall and increased his kingdom from the island of Betonny.

However, the spirit of King Lysandus appeared every night in his former capital at the head of an army of ghosts. It became impossible to go out, and all life stopped as soon as the sun fell. Any attempt to exorcise the deceased monarch failed. Incapable of any coherent speech, the ghost wandered the streets screaming incomprehensible things where only one word was recognized: "Revenge".  
Why did this king who fell in a victorious battle want revenge? Had not King Camaron of Hammerfell perished at the hand of his son, Gothryd, actual King of Daenia?

Lady Brisienna Magnassen had added only two pieces of information to the official relationship of facts. The first was that the king's tomb at the foot of the monument celebrating the victory of the Cryngaine Field was empty. There was no body in the tomb. The Blade Agent had no idea where the sovereign had really been buried. Second, a year after the death of Lysandus, one of the first investigators sent by the emperor Uriel had arrived seriously wounded at the home of Lady Brisienna. Before he breathed his last breath, he muttered that the king had been murdered.

Shiro scratched his scalp when he heard this explanation... which didn't explain anything. How could King Lysandus have found an honorable death at the Battle of the Cryngaine Field... and been murdered? Why the sovereign wasn't buried in the tomb that was meant for him?

Lady Brisienna had sighed before adding: "This is what we have been trying to understand for fifteen years and you are here to find the answer".

Unfortunately, Shiro was a young man with a heart of gold, too kind for his own good. An archer, a Magus and a swordsman capable of killing almost anything but (might be) dragons and giants but... how can I put it? He wasn't Rin Tohsaka.

He didn't understand any of these tangled court intrigues. The poor man was lost in the meanderings of centuries-old vendettas that did not only pit kingdoms against kingdoms, but also coteries in each kingdom for a little influence, for money, or for revenge for wrongs that go back generations.

Conflicts of influences, scandals more or less manufactured, old jealous husbands and young flying wives, knights in search of glory mingled in the banquets of the King of Daenia, his hunting games with brilliant crew, and its tournaments where we paraded in beautiful armor.

Here, under the gold and the silks, poisons were poured into the glasses of the guests; plotters organized "hunting accidents" or cut the saddle straps during the jousts.

Making swords appear was useless in a conflict of this kind and the poor Japanese reincarnated was spinning in circles.

Lady Brisienna had explained to Shiro that the assassin of king Lysandus could come from any great kingdoms of the Illiac's Bay: Daenia (in the case of a plot specific to the royal court), Menevia and Hammerfell (in the case of a murderer outside Daenia) or even a cabal uniting several factions.

However... another suspect had appeared the orcs!

The news of the invasion of Menevia and the siege of Wayrest had surprised everyone. No one had thought that anyone could federate the sixty orc tribes of the Wrothgar Mountains... not counting the goblins and the Reachmen!

It was not an exaggeration to say that this attack threatened High-Rock as a whole... Unfortunately, many lords seemed unable to overcome their personal quarrels, leaving kingdoms divided and unprepared to war.

* * *

Daggerfall was the oldest and mighty city in High-Rock. It held the first place by virtue of its seniority, power and prosperity.

It was the capital of the kingdom of Daenia, but above all it was the largest trading port in the Illac's Bay. Its plump ships had the monopoly of transport on the commercial route from Mascomian between Wayrest and Sentinel.

The city followed a square plan and was entirely surrounded by tall, dark-grey stone ramparts, dotted with round towers with pepper roofs. At each pointed spire beat the banner of Daenia, a red dragon on a green field, or that of Daggerfall, a red dragon on an orange field.

The high places of the Dragon City were its market, its temple of Kynareth, and the two chapters of the Dragon Knights that housed the members of this order.

The castle of the King of Daenia was to the east of the city, at the north end of a long avenue bordered by the mansions of all the noble houses of Daggerfall. As all ancient building, the royal castle as square plan, isolated behind high walls flared by towers and preceded by moats that a drawbridge crossed. Leaning against the northern wall, the royal palace was a splendid building flanked by two fortified towers.

Between the houses of stone and wood, a majority of Bretons crossed alongside members of other human ethnic groups: Imperial, Nords, Redguards as well as some non-human like Khajiits similar to standing lions, reptilian Argonians and especially elves: Aldmer (Upper Elves), Bosmer( Wood Elves) and Dunmer (Dark Elves).

There was a lot of talk in many languages, children running around in the streets, well-dressed bourgeois, peasants in _cotte_ (1) coming to sell their products at the market, tall knights caracoling on their mounds. Carriages carrying noble lords and beautiful ladies were rolling in the paved streets.  
The city was very much like what Shiro saw in Saber's memories during the Grail War. Except that no city in King Arthur's time had sewers. In fact, in many ways, the Tamriel Empire enjoyed a standard of living that was unparalleled with the medieval earthly era. The majority of the population could read and write, probably because books were relatively cheap... thanks to the knowledge of paper and printing. The presence of alchemists in each city made it possible to provide artificial dyes, medicines, fertilizers, and even beauty products.

Seeing this well-fed population, these healthy children, and these people mingling in the shops, it became easy to forget that the present peace had been forged by the force of arms... and that some dreamed of breaking it.

There were shouts, and then a driver got excited causing panic...

A blue fire passed through the crowd. In an instant, dozens of members of this peaceful crowd fell to the ground, blackened and cowered under the infernal heat.

Shiro Emiya looked at the panic scene around him. Remembering another fire... another city...

In spite of the shock of the panic, he remained motionless only for a moment seizing a little girl who cried and called her mother he tore her from the crowd who would trample her in the terror that had seized the populace.

Hearing horses hitting the pavement, he turned around to see a dozen knights who had arrived. The noble young men wore splendid armor of plates covered with coats of arms. Their helmets bore splendid figures: pegs, heads of swan, lion or eagle. Each held a spear. Even their mounts were covered with silk dress in the colors of their coats of arms and steel headpieces.

Their charge seemed irresistible. Nothing could resist so many martial splendors...  
The blue fire enveloped them. Horses and knights collapsed and blackened as their clothes burned.

In the street, apart from the overturned driver, the charred corpses remained only abandoned objects and... Shiro. The teenager summoned Kanshou and Bakuya before facing the silhouette that advanced amidst the flames.

A man... a humanoid anyway... wrapped in a long black dress his hands were wrapped in his long sleeves and his face was invisible in the shadow of his hood. He moved calmly leaning on a large wooden stick with a steel head.

By reflex, more than by reflection, Shiro used his ability of _Structural Analysis_ on the mage stick of the creature and...

_Lich, Undead... great magic power... weapon: "Baton of Blue Fire", can only be wounded by mithril weapons or higher. The monster is vulnerable to magic but to immunity to cold... but fire inflicts double damage..._

Shiro threw Kanshou and Bakuya to the enemy. His favorite swords were made of steel but they could distract the undead.

While the lich raised a shield of energy in front of its hand to repel the swirling blades, Shirou proclaimed the first verse of the incantation he had learned the same morning:  
\- _I'm the bone of my sword_.

Blue lightnings formed around the reincarnated Japanese. This attracted the attention of the monster that lowered its hood, revealing a horrible visage with mummified features where burned glowing eyes. In his hand... no, the broken and bony claw that served as its hand, the lich brandished the Baton of Blue Fire. There was a lightning bolt formed by flames... but they broke against a sudden obstacle appeared before the amber-eyed teenager: a shield invested with an enchantment of protection against fire.

-_ Steel is my body and fire is my blood_

In the second verse, the electric crackles multiplied to the right and left of Shiro. As his hair bristled and the smell of ozone filled the ravaged street, more than a dozen swords appeared, suspended in the air... mithril and adamantite blades, glass and ebonite, daedric weapons... They rushed forward, stripping the air before sinking violently into the decomposed body of the powerful undead mage.

Shiro smiled. His pale imitation of **Gate of Babylon** was worth the months of effort to master it.

The monster could no longer feel the pain, he could no longer perish because of the bleeding, and even the magic weapons could no longer inflict enough damage to destroy him at once. Nevertheless, the attack wounded him. As the lich tried to get back on its feet, Shiro ran to it:

\- _Trace On_!

The weapon that materialized in his hand was a daedric dai-katana, a long slightly curved saber, forged in Oblivion's plans by mixing molten ebonite with the blood of a mighty daedra sacrificed for the occasion.

Guided by the thirst for violence that filled the cursed blade and the demonic magic that ignited his blade, Shiro struck with redoubled blows. The undead wavered, raising its hands in defensive spells that barely slowed down the rain of attacks that fell on it in great arcs of fire.

The lich turned its eyes to Shiro and attacked mentally.

Acute pain hammered his temples, weighing on his brain... In fact, the undead was sending its magical energy to paralyze him by attacking his pain centers. Except the monster never faced a Magus from Earth. Shiro's _Magic Circuits_ lit up to release a flood of _prana_ that washed his body and mind, repelling this parasitic influence.

Shiro's brief slowdown in his attacks had however allowed the monster to react, its left hand rose to throw a bolt of lightning. Struck in the chest, the amber-eyed blacksmith rolled on the ground for nearly three meters.

However, the teenager immediately got up again, gasping, carrying a hand to his side marked with a smoking burn. His armor must have been magical because it's dissipated much of the attack.  
The two opponents faced each other and Shiro grimaced... unknown energy healed the enemy's wounds. He could see them closing without leaving a trace.

It dissipated the daedric dai-katana. The weapon could not be used to destroy such an opponent. Something much more powerful was needed. This time, the blue prana particles formed a dagger with a strange form. This thin blade of fragile appearance looked like a lightning stroke. Shiro had only briefly seen it in Caster's hands as she tried to stab Saber to break the contract that bound her to him.

The young Magus jumped forward once more, then dodging a fire ball and a cone of ice that its enemy had intended for him. He practically appeared to materialize before the lich and forcing the dagger into its chest with all his strength:

\- **Rule Breaker**!

The dagger of Medea could be considered the ultimate anti-magic weapon, capable of dissipating and destroying any form of thaumaturgy. The pierced lich screamed from a supernatural pain while all its defenses, contracts and pacts with supernatural entities were literally torn to pieces, annihilated... No, it would be more accurate to say that **Rule Breaker** had "rewind time" and brought the lich back to the state that preceded the time the pact had passed.

Deprived of much of its magical faculties, the undead wanted to flee. But Shiro followed it with his gaze and materialized a bow similar to that of Archer in one hand and several hideous barbed arrows, in the other. He drew them in such a rapid succession that an ordinary human would have found it difficult to follow his actions.

Each projectile carried a rune of fire... and the lich ignited like an old piece of dry tinder. The monster collapsed, and soon there remained of it only a heap of glowing ashes.

The confrontation ended, Shiro felt a sensation of weariness and frustration. So many people had died... His dream of being a Hero of Justice seemed more childish than ever. He remembered a conversation with Kiritsugu. No one can save everyone. Even in the best case, to save the innocent, the Hero is forced to kill the bad guy.

Cries brought him back to the present. Shocks of weapons, calls... spectral howls... the picture was clear. The lich was not the only undead who entered the city. He turned quickly, this came from the west gate, the main gate connected to the Camlorn Road.

* * *

Centuries later, the inhabitants of Daggerfall still recounted this sudden attack. Ten lichs had raised an army of skeletons and zombies torn from the graves and battlefields of the region, binding ghosts and specters that haunted the nearby ruins before attacking the capital of the kingdom.

They clashed with the crossbowmen carrying the red and orange tabard of the city militia, with the lancers raised among the inhabitants, with the warriors and magi of the adventurers' guilds, as well as with the Breton Knights.

But above all, on that day, three heroes revealed themselves:

A young magus which, throwing the _gandr_'s black lightning, decimated legions of skeletons.  
A teenager girl in a broken coat of mail, an intrepid and charismatic knight whose exploits ignited the defenders.  
An archer who summoning arrows with destructive powers and sowed devastation among the undead.  
It was a heroic victory, the beginning of a legend.

* * *

Shiro jostled some militiamen carrying their comrades and stopped for a few moments to apologize. The staircase leading to the rampart was narrow. At any time, he would have been the first to offer his help but not today.

He hurried, running almost towards the doors.

Could it really be that the magus that used _Gandr_ was Rin?

And this knight woman whom the guards had told him about... a little blonde with green eyes... he did not dare to _think_ that she could really be the one he was thinking of.

Nervous, he approached the gates. The doors lay on the ground, broken by the lichs' spells and the curses of the necromancers. Priests from Mara and Arkay treated the wounded and the dead. Everywhere, in the midst of the bodies wearing the tabards of the kingdom of Daenia, we saw broken bones and the remains of zombies cut into pieces.

Shiro looked at one knight after another, looking for...

_His sight blurred, he forgot to breathe_.

Near the door, she was leaning on a silver spear inlaid with runes. He coat of mail looked like a ruin... the stitches were broken and her tabard was so dirty that the colors of the kingdom of Menevia could hardly be recognized.

But, this face... the skin so white and her hair as if sprinkled with gold... she was of such beauty that she plunged him into an admiring amazement. With her eyelids closed, she seemed to meditate. Without really controlling his legs, Shiro threw himself forward and managed to catch his feet in something before spreading himself at the knight's feet.

Artoria opened her beautiful emerald eyes invaded with surprise and lowered them to see amber eyes that returned her an equal amazement and a joy without mixture:

\- Saber! It's you Saber!

It happened a few seconds before the stunned voice of his former Servant answered him:  
\- Shiro?

King Arthur's proud soprano was unrecognizable, almost strangling herself on that simple name. Still at his knees, her past Master breathed on a precipitous rhythm, his eyes wide open, literally drinking the beautiful face above him.

\- Is it really you, Saber?

More able to dominate her emotions, Artoria Pendragon regained her composure and had a sweet smile that few had ever seen. It's illuminated her beautiful face in an incredible way. Suddenly, she seemed a completely different person:

\- Naturally, it's me, Saber. And you are Shiro, always like yourself. At last, I found you!

\- It's... oh... it's... I... Saber, Saber, Saber.

Shiro seemed about to cry and laugh at the same time, unable to decide. Artoria continued to smile. With a light finger, she walked through the features of the man she loved. She too found it hard to believe that he was standing in front of her... at last at her knees. The young woman suddenly rose and took an embarrassed look around her.

All activity had suddenly stopped among the guards and knights who attended the scene, softened and amused. Suddenly, a little woman slipped between the big men who prevented her from seeing what was happening:

\- Well, you were in Daggerfall, Shiro. Do you have any idea how much time I spent looking for you?!  
Brutally torn from the contemplation of his beloved, the archer-mage turned to the little devil, dressed in red and accommodating twintail hairstyle, which looked at them with a bored grim:

\- Ah... Tohsaka...

For a little, smoke would have come out through Rin Tohsaka's ears:

\- So, Saber has the right to the declarations of a love-dead toad in front of the whole city! And I? "Ah... Tohsaka". I really wonder why I've been so much worried about you and why I've been looking all over for you!

Suddenly realizing what she had just said, Rin became redder than the reddest of all tomatoes and turned aside by crossing her arms with an air that was meant to be disdainful:

\- And... and don't think I've been particularly looking for you or you're important to me! This has nothing to do with my personal feelings! It's just that we're allies and that... well... it's okay to worry about yours allies.

Hearing a sweet laugh, Shiro looked up at Saber. She was the one laughing:

\- I am so happy to have found you both!

* * *

That night, they stayed talking for hours, each telling parts of his story. This life... the previous... they spoke... spoke. Shiro explained that he was looking for a lost letter from Emperor Uriel Septim VIII and especially to allow King Lysandus to find rest.

As for Rin and Artoria, they expressed their goal: to find three pieces of crystal that served as a key to the Outer Kingdom where Corvus Direnni would be buried with Excalibur.

Shiro Emiya looked at them strangely and opened the bag on his belt, pulling out an elongated object the size of his hand, wrapped in a handkerchief. He then released from the fabric a fragment of blue-green crystal. At first glance, we could see that he had been part of a larger crystalline rock.

Rin retained a stifled exclamation before tearing it from her friend and examining it from all angles:

\- It is indeed a fragment of a Great Velkyn Crystal. There can't be ten like that in all of Tamriel. Shiro, where did you get it?

The redhead scratched his cheek:

\- This is the strangest part. A man called...ah... Lailoken... a magus... maybe even a Servant, gave it to me saying a mutual friend needed it.

He then looked surprised at Artoria. At the mention of the name "Lailoken" she had hiccups:  
\- A man with white hair with rainbow reflections?

\- Do you know him?

\- Yes... it is given many names: Lailoken; Dinas Emrys; Mirddyn dan Morwin... Merlin!

Rin and Shiro got up at the same time:

\- Merlin? ! The Flower Wizard?

The redhead Magus stopped for a moment:

\- Now that I think about it, flowers appeared where he was standing.

\- So it is Merlin.

Rin remained practical.

\- Okay, we have the first piece of the Corvus Crystal, but we have to find the other two.

They chatted for a while and then separated. That night, one of the three rooms of the house was not used. In another, a young girl with black hair - amused and annoyed- plugged her ears so as not to listen to the lovers' couple which filled years of separation.

* * *

In the immense desert of red ash nothing had changed. Moons and burning clouds continued to pass over a graveyard of swords. Nothing had changed... except that at the foot of the statue of Artoria and around the altar of Excalibur spring grass had appeared, sown with modest wildflowers.

* * *

(1) Sort of medieval shirt, mainly used by poor labor workers and peasants.

* * *

**Author note: ****This passage is actually the one I wanted to write since the beginning of this Fanfic. I hope you liked it. Bringing together Saber and Shiro made me really happy... aren't they cute?  
For the attentive who note the errors of the author... yes, I completely forgot in the previous chapter that lichs were only vulnerable to mithril weapons (or superior). Artoria's runic spear is **_**no more than **_**silver... So, let's say that its anti-undead enchantment allows it to still be effective; (but yes, I admit it, I made a mistake, it's my entire fault).**

**And for those who think Shiro is stronger than Rin and Artoria combined... well, no, that's not true. It's just that Rule Breaker is cheating.**


	14. Chapter 14 The Arrival of the Imperials

**The arrival of the Imperials**

* * *

Wayrest was defended by 20,000 men. Nevertheless, the combined army of the Orcs, Necromancers and Reachmen now reached 90,000 men, a much higher proportion than the four-to-one ratio that was considered necessary in such an undertaking.

The apparatus of this army proved even more impressive. The Orcs were rightly regarded as excellent siege engineers. They had installed two parallel lines of trenches beyond the scope of the besieged city towers. The first was the contravallation which prevented the exit of the besieged, the second, the circumvallation, blocked the road to a possible army of relief. In between, the orcs had set up their camp, a hospital and storehouses. It was here, well protected from fire, that we built all the siege machines commanded by the general in chief.

Once this first network of defenses had been completed, he had conducted approach work. Sappers had dug zigzag trenches directed towards the citadel. At 600 meters from the walls, a series of craters housed siege machines. Built in an arc of a circle, these bastions were connected by interlaced ditches. A little closer to the walls of Wayrest, a second crescent of similarly connected casemates could concentrate its fire on the weak points.

For the purposes of the siege, real monsters had been created. First there were the mangonels. Catapults that were activated by ratchet gears. They were not very powerful weapons and, unlike counterweight machines, their range rarely exceeded one hundred and fifty meters for twenty kilogram projectiles.

Then came the trebuchets. A pendulum was rotating around an axis. This pivot separated the long arm supporting a sling and the short arm to which was attached a counterweight. The swing of the beam made the sling turn. When the speed was sufficient, the sling strap of the slingshot would release the projectile. The invention of the articulated counterweight had almost doubled the reach of the trips. With his long arm of fourteen meters, the largest of them was able to send a ball of a hundred kilos to one hundred and eighty meters. However, it took many men to operate it.  
Beyond the artillery positions, the trenches resumed as far as a final network of bastions at the foot of the glacis. That's where the assault troops were supposed to meet before they mounted the attack.  
Nevertheless, the Orcs were not in a hurry. In the early days of the siege, they had lost many people in ill-prepared assaults. However, it was said that each shot at the wall saved a life among the attackers. In fact, famine was the best ally of all besieging and more than the hunger itself, the demoralization it brought. So the Orcs simply hammered the fortifications.

The walls could not fail to inspire respect.

Wayrest surrounded itself with three walls preceded by a flooded ditch seven meters wide. The first wall was low, protecting an outdoor terrace called "boulevard" where mangonels had been installed. The second line played a prominent role in a wall eight meters high and almost as wide. It was heavily defended by large troops. Square towers flanked it regularly. This wall was not designed to withstand the fire of the war machines. It was only responsible for stopping the men. The third wall, the most impressive, was large enough to withstand the most powerful siege weapons. Towers with a seat of thirty meters in diameter and twenty high were attached. They were equipped with trebuchets that responded to enemy fire.

From one of these fortified positions, a group of senior officers had gathered to see with a glance all the investment positions occupied by the besiegers. On nearby towers, the long arms of the war machines stretched and relaxed intermittently.

A deaf roar suddenly rose, tearing the air. An instant later, a ball of stone covered with pitch crashed on the second wall. Dust and fumes rose in the air, echoing a noise of collapse.  
Captain Hauteclaire lowered his spyglass and turned to the servants of the Couillard. This machine was an improved trebuchet. With two articulated counterweight, its arm had been replaced by a single pole. Despite lower performance than enemy machines, the Couillard fired four or five times faster than them and with a limited team.

\- You saw where it came from, asked the captain

The officer nodded his head.

\- Yes, sir.

He pointed to a tall plank tower.

\- But it would be better to destroy this observation tower and blind them.

Returning to his men, the officer shouts at them. Quickly, an artilleryman shortened the sling and then placed a heavy ball in it. On the other side, his companions began to pull on the ropes connected to the bottom of the pole. The projectile slipped into the guide channel and the arm was released. Suddenly brought back forward, he rotated the slingshot which arrived at the top of his race landed to project his load.

After a perfect trajectory, the ball of stone passed through the observation tower. In an instant, the building collapsed into a pile of broken boards. Rescuers came out of nearby trenches to assist observers. From the boulevard, it was not heard that way. Crossbowmen opened fire, killing and injuring several assailants. Then, from a tower an archer, dressed in a red cape slamming into the wind, shot an arrow towards the sky... it separated into multiple projectiles that fell back on the enemy ranks.

The lips of Hauteclaire pinched. Archer... despite his skills at bow, the aristocrat hated him. This less than nothing came from one knows where showed a contempt of authority and of people better born than him that a nobleman of Haute-Roche could not accept.

However, the other officers did not share his annoyance:

\- Now their artillerymen are blind.

\- Good work.

In fact, it was a small success. Dozens of other observations towers remained standing because not all the Couillards had such a good team of servants. Because the length of the slingshot corresponded to the shooting angle and the weight of the counterweight determined the distance the projectile crossed.

Furiously, the trebuchets of the besiegers concentrated on their positions but the shot had become imprecise. Some balls fell too short and ploughed the earth, others struck the walls randomly and inflicted only slight scratches on the titanic walls.

Wayrest, surrounded, its port blocked by a fleet of the undead, resisted for more than two months. The pirates captured by Rin Tohsaka just before her departure had been interrogated by the Guild's Magi. Through a mixture of "lying detection" and "telepathy", the spell casters forced the prisoners to reveal their accomplices. Those who were captured were in turn questioned, and so - from near to near- the whole network had been dismantled.

Without this, the traitors inside the walls would probably have succeeded in poisoning the wells, burning the reserves of food or weapons.

Hauteclaire swore to base voice when Sakura Tohsaka arrived. Rin's young sister came every day to care for the wounded. The soldiers regarded her as an angel of mercy. The Tohsaka sisters, that Artoria Pendragon, or that arrogant Archer... everyone talked about them as if the survival of the city depended on their efforts. The kingdom of Menevia had always depended on its nobility, and Captain Hauteclaire could hardly bear the lack of recognition of the commoners who were ecstatic before these newcomers.

* * *

The rising sun burned the sea off the island of Balfiera.

In the scarlet clarity, the sea seemed to be turned into blood. Was it a bad omen? Or a good one? Perhaps the simple reminder that life feeds on life and that every day, in the depths, fish and sharks fought for their sustainability.

The port was seized by the animation of great days. A veritable human ant farm loaded food and equipment on board the supply carracks. The troops occupying the square camps remained, however, safe from the palisades; the departure was not yet close. However, one could see patrolling the legionnaires of the Tamriel Empire, recognizable by their tile-shaped shield and their steel helmets with riveted neck covers and cheek guards. Their equipment varied according to the troops to which they belonged. The archers wore a chainmail; the auxiliaries had armor of leather or scales. As for the heavy foot soldiers, they maneuvered in blackened metal breastplate, decorated with two horses and a laurel wreath.

On the other hand, more than a hundred galleys had abandoned their anchorage to form a squadron. Only the admiral's galleass was resting, arranged along the harbor.

This was a magnificent ship of seventy meters long. Two masts rigged with Latin sails ensured its propulsion. Its stem was weighed down by a triangular rostrum finished with a sharp bronze yoke. Behind it was the light bow castle lightened a good part of its formwork. Above the spur, one could see a mangonel capable of pulling twenty-five pound balls. On either side, were four large ballistae capable of throwing fifteen pound strokes. Finally, three siege crossbows on a mobile pedestal had been placed on each side, along the combat corridors.

From the stern castle, we first noticed the half barrel covered gallery. Painted in red and gold, it resumed on each edge the drawing of the dragon, the wings forming a diamond, emblem of the Tamriel Empire. Three huge glass and bronze lanterns were all in the back. Below, at the same level as the rowers, a long string of pointed windows lightened the stern appearance of the rear castle, making it almost ethereal.

The fighting corridors stood on either side, above the oars. They were covered with screens where the emblem of the Tamriel Empire was taken back. Just behind, there were archers in chain mail and helmets. The galley alone was a demonstration of power and beauty. It is hard to believe that his strength came from the suffering of hundreds of gallerians and that it was built only to sow destruction.  
\- Are you fascinated by the galleass, General Ceberhas?

The Imperial General wore antique "gilded bronze" armor with a muscles breastplate, marked with the dragon of Tamriel. Attached to his shoulders, a long purple cape descended to his knees. However, the man was an Aldmer. In a multi-ethnic empire like that of Tamriel, though, it was not surprising that a High Elf could obtain such a position. Valendil Ceberhas struggled to tear himself away from the contemplation of the ship. Yet he turned to his second, Legate Marcus Manfredi smiled:

\- The "Triumph of Talos", let us hope that his name was chosen well.

The general nodded his head, his gaze turned wide. With a deep face, he seemed as if caught by a diffuse feeling, difficult to name.

\- General, would you wish me luck?

\- Of course, you have my best wishes.

They shook hands, then the legate climbed the bridge:

\- Goodbye, I give you my word to do my best.

General Ceberhas shook his head:

\- The best? Keep the enemy away and save your skin, that's the most important thing.

\- Good-bye, General.

\- May the Aedras watch over you!

Valendil Ceberhas looked at the apparatus of the gigantic galley. The volunteer gallerians, a true class of sailor in Cyrodiil, gave the first impulse. Placed just behind the forecastle, they gave rhythm to the prisoners of war and to the thugs who constituted the bulk of the galley slave. Slowly, the ship gained speed. The show was magnificent… but to admire it, we should have peace of heart.

General Ceberhas felt agitated. Emperor Uriel Septim VIII had entrusted him with the task of clearing the city of Wayrest, besieged by the Orcs. The mission was nothing simple, Valendil Ceberhas had gathered together a legion strengthened by auxiliaries, transport and war ships before setting sail for the capital of the kingdom of Menevia.

However, while he was settling on the island of Balfiera to prepare the expedition, his scouts had informed him that the port of Wayrest was blocked by a fleet of... living-dead, ghost ships torn from the limbs of the ocean with skeletons and zombies as crew.

The blockade now completely cut Wayrest from all help. General Ceberhas therefore had to remove the bulk of the phantom fleet before attempting to force passage with the requisitioned merchant ships carrying his legionnaires and the supplies intended for the besieged.

The role of Legate Marcus Manfredi would be to remove the enemies... a necessary task but one which Aldmer did not envy his subordinate. Few people would have gone to face the undead with a light heart.

* * *

The basic idea of the convoy was to include merchant ships in a military wing. The fastest ships were deployed in advance. On each side, the merchants were accompanied by a small escort of war galleys. The bulk of the wing remained aft, ready to respond.

The plan seemed simple to put in place.

Indeed, on the first day, the merchant ships had kept an impeccable formation. Except that, in the night, they lost sight of each other. So that, in the morning, there were them in all directions, even on the horizon.

General Ceberhas was incarnate equanimity. Despite this, the idea that privateers could attack in the midst of such a boondoggle inspired him holy anger. Having the flagship fired, Valendil himself participated in the Stray Draft. To the bullhorn, the Elf promised to have pilots unable to follow the position lights of a ship on a clear day replaced by sailors of the navy.

The threat carried. The rivalry between the merchant navy and the military navy pushed the first to surpass themselves. From the second night, there were only two Carracks to go astray. After a week of travel, the fleet that arrived in sight of Wayrest as if it had always operated together.

* * *

The month of Heartfire was coming to an end.

The sun was fading in the sky at the beginning of autumn. Its clarity made the sea sparkle on leagues. The proximity of the earth stretched the sails of a constant breeze. The masts sang, deploying a large amount of canvas. The carracks had taken all their sails, spinning as fast as they could. The war galleys had aligned themselves with their speed.

Although one is in the narrowest arm of the Illiac Bay, the shores of Hammerfell remained invisible. The only advanced sentinel, an island of black rock emerged from the waves to starboard. A strategic point disputed for centuries. A fortress had been built there at the time of the Direnni Hegemony.

Then, it had fallen into the hands of the Bretons of Menevia

Valendil took the spyglass of one of his officers. The walls of the fort seemed intact, and a blue banner adorned with three gold roses was slamming on the highest tower.

The fort was still in the hands of the Breton garrison. Valendil passed his tongue over his lips and swept the surroundings. The fortress of Roc Noir served as an advanced position at Wayrest and in its small port, several carracks were parked.

At first considered to be of secondary interest, this fort had become the very purpose of the diversion of Legate Marcus Manfredi. The imperial admiral had advised against a direct assault on the blockade fleet in favor of an attack on the detached elements monitoring the Roc Noir.

This plan would attract as much attention from the shadow fleet but would result in fewer casualties among the Imperial. It remains to be seen if everything went as planned.

Looking around, Valendil Ceberhas saw only a few sails that were moving away. At his side, a prefect stretched out an arm to designate these fleeting ships:

\- General, these ships must be sunk before they warn the bulk of the enemy fleet.

\- Let the galleass protect the merchants. Transmit to the light galleys to catch them.

The bosco whistle rang in the air. Sailors began to run in the corridors. The wind forced them as they approached the coast. The ship leaped forward. As Roc Noir receded, a light shone on top of its high tower.  
The garrison hailed them with a mirror. "Enemy ships approaching to the southeast." The commander, put his finger down to feel the breeze. "They are moving against the wind." Not an immediate danger, then. Slipping behind the officer in charge of the transmissions, Valendil touched his shoulder. "How many sails, quickly!" The mirror signals relayed the message to the rock. The response came in fast flash followed by pauses: long, short, long, short…

«Forty-five sails have already been counted, others are approaching.» «All hands on deck » Valendil was surprised for a moment. The crew belonged to the elite of Tamriel's fleet. The general knew that these sailors never did anything for nothing. Despite this, these few words had as much effect as a kick in an anthill. Incredible agitation reigned. Everyone was running. Weapons were distributed; soldiers of the Maritime Guard joined the combat corridors or climbed to the masts. Others pulled the ropes to slow the ship down or activated around war machines. Marine carpenters pressed around the hatches while crew members pulled buckets to prevent fires.

* * *

An hour went by.

Wayrest began to grow and the eyes of the sailors saw the details emerge. The lighthouse, towers and columns of smoke that climbed from the combat zones. Anchored offshore, the ghost ships were shooting at their chains. Few of them were travelling. It was a violent shock to General Ceberhas.

After all, he sent Marcus Manfredi to keep this fleet away...

\- Magnus! But what does that mean? With his mouth dry and his heart too fast, Valendil was anxious. "There are two fleets? "

The sound of projectiles falling into the water made him turn his head. Pointing his spyglass, the general saw sails in the distance. The fast galleys had engaged the fight against the enemy scouts. Despite the promising turn taken by the skirmish, his anxiety did not subside. He returned to contemplation of the distant sails doubling the black rock. «What is this second fleet? » The worst that could happen would be that the fleet sent to pursue the legate's galleys is already back… or that it has triumphed!

\- Don't worry," said an officer. "They're heading in the wrong direction for intercepting Admiral Manfredi."  
\- Yes, you… you must be right.

In his spyglass, the ghost ships began to grow and then stabilized. The prefect unfolded his own approach telescope :"Their admiral is smart, as he got closer to the island, he took advantage of the breeze that blows from the shore. However, given our relative speeds, his wing will still arrive after the start of the engagement."

For their part, the ships of the blockade force had finally perceived the danger. The sails were established, but with this wind coming from the sea, they would not serve much.

Suddenly returned to more peace of mind, Valendil was cogitating at full speed. He felt like he was playing a complicated chess game with the opponent. It was necessary to maneuver subtly before the engagement, under penalty of granting the advantage to the enemy. The heliographers were sending messages from one ship to another. A screen of ships remained on the stern to stand between the second fleet and the merchants. The carracks should remain grouped, framed by two galleass wings. On the front, the light galleys had put up all their canvas to carry themselves in front of the first fleet, after having gotten rid of the enemy scouts.

For their part, the undead had finally reacted. About ten rotting ships with torn sails advanced towards them to cut them off. A second group tried to double their flank. This dangerous maneuver threatened to cut them off from the merchant ships.

Again, the mirrors transmit orders and information. The formation of carracks crept, while the galleys were bending their way to prevent infiltration. Valendil thought for a moment to bypass the enemy. Unfortunately, the merchants were much faster by downwind. The second ghost fleet was not an immediate danger. However, it was not necessary to take needless risks.

Like a maelstrom, the light galleys passed through the undead squadron. Various projectiles encased the fast couriers of the seas which escaped any damage. A flock of flaming projectiles rose in response, cutting the way of wrecks animated by necromancy, turning windward side to bring them back to the bulk of his squadron.

\- 90° port helm.

\- Helm to port 90°, confirmed.

Gaining speed, the other ships framed the galley. In a few moments, the distance between the two wings was reduced to nothing. One of the galleass reeled, touched by two balls sent by catapults.  
A group response was not long in coming.

The light that was born on the ships' decks blinded the galleys. Rapidly concentrated, they turned into unbearable and burning rays. The beams, which were thrown on the sails of the ghost ships, soon gave birth to smoking holes. Consumed by a fire that spread to the superstructures, several ships began to drift. Implacable, the Imperials continued to bombard them with sunlight amplified by converging magnifying systems (1).

The survivors retreated. The undead did not feel fear, but the enemy admiral had probably found that the losses were not worth it.

Meanwhile, a new wave of ghost ships had moved closer to the galleys' range.

Here, too, it went wrong for the undead. With calm, the Imperials had waited for the last to name to turn windward side simultaneously, as in the parade. Three galleys opened fire. On the other side, it was like a cataclysm. Splintered woods and ropes flew in all directions. Broken masts, open hulls in multiple locations, ghost ships were sinking rapidly.

The last seven ships handled by skeletons and zombies were moving as fast as they could. Nevertheless, the galleys had already recharged and methodically crushed their enemies. Some ships sank, others retreated.

Now the naval battle had really begun. On all sides, geysers were rising where shots were falling into the water. The imperial fleet had broken down enemy lines. Everywhere, ships of the undead drifted prey to the flames or disarticulated by the projectiles.

However, the surprise had stopped playing. Ahead, a dozen large ships had regrouped to intercept them. At the increasing crash of artillery, the general guessed that other enemy ships were counterattacking on the wings.

Valendil turned to his captain and went to speak when a hum was heard. Surprised, he raised his head to see a shredded hole, mark of the passage of a ball through the sail.

-Prefect, sends orders to the galleys to assemble and move forward. We need to break through now before the second fleet finishes circling us.

\- At your command, General.

The galleass veered from edge and passed at spelling rate. Mangonel and ballistae exchanged their projectiles first. Then, at reduced range, the burning rays of the mirrors began to devour the sails of several ghost ships. Distraught, three of them hurried to cut the ropes before the fire reached their hull.

The others were getting closer.

For the first time, Valendil's flagship was wounded. A necrotic ship had just touched him with four ball right on his bow. Cries and groans rose in the rain of cordage and broken wood chips. Breaking its course, the ghost ship tried to approach. But on the passageway, the archers of the Maritime Guard fired a volley of flaming arrows after another. The powerful bows completely depopulated the forecastle castle and mowed down many of the undead gathered on deck. Deprived of coordination, massacred, the crew could no longer maneuver. As a formidable hurrah shook the galley, the ghost ship hit the reinforced hull softly and drifted aft. Its sails, crossed by arrows, began to burn.  
One after the other, the galleys emerged from the smoke. Some were damaged, but half of the enemy ships sank, the rest fled.  
Less than half a mile away, the walls and the lighthouse of Refuge dominated the sea. From one of the towers, a heliographer hailed them. "Greetings from His Majesty King Eadwyre, congratulations on your victory."  
\- Answer that we are bringing reinforcements, supplies and ammunition.  
After a transmission break, the unknown operator thanked and announced that the chain of the port would be lifted to let them in. Valendil approved and directed his spyglass to the rear. The last galleys appeared in turn, coming out of the clouds of fires that hovered over the carcasses of enemy ships. The carracks followed. Relaying a message from the rear guard, one of the captains transmitted a situation report. The first flotilla of necromancers had suffered heavy losses but continued to attack on the flanks. The second flotilla had reached contact.  
\- Let the merchants set course for Wayrest! Send the rear guard to withdraw. As for us, let's deploy around the channel to avoid a last-minute attack.  
\- At your command, General.  
Despite a certain anguish that continued to hold him, Valendil Ceberhas began to relax. He still did not know whether Admiral Manfredi's distraction had cost him all his ships. Nevertheless, he had succeeded in his foolish bet. Despite the blockade of a much larger fleet than his, the merchant ships (overflowing with supplies and legionnaires) had entered the besieged city without being shot.

* * *

Through the port gate, the cohorts of the _Legio XX Valeria Vitrix_ entered. At their head, General Ceberhas advanced on horseback. He preceded by a few lengths the five tribunes that formed his staff. These senior officers wore a black steel breastplate on a red tunic. On their wrist guards, one could discern the emblem of the empire, a dragon whose wings formed a diamond. They also had a helmet with a metal crest.

They were ahead of a compact block formed by military music, with mouths, trumpets and drums. Only the latter played, giving the pace of the seven thousand soldiers who rang on the pavement.  
In front of the troupe, the _aqualiferi_ raised the Legion's ensign, a golden dragon clutching lightning between its talons. The veteran who performed this sacred task wrapped himself in the remains of a panther. The head of the animal covered his helmet, and the skin of his paws was knotted on the throat of the soldier.

Finally, the legionnaires themselves appeared. The First Cohort - under the orders of the _primipile _centurion- advanced in the lead. Three officers: the steward, the mouth-ringer, the _signiferi_ (sign-bearer) preceded the men on the march.

Each _centuria_ formed a rectangle of four men on nineteen rows. The legionnaires in steel breastplate held a large tile-shaped shield on their left arm. In maple wood, this _scutum _shield was reinforced by an _umbo_ (a metal bowl in the centre) and was decorated with a laurel wreath. In each cohort the armament was homogeneous. The First fought with a long sword of _Spatha_'s type.

The centurions walked beside the 76 men they had charge of, hounding the stragglers, without hesitating to use the knotty stick they held in hand. They made an iron discipline rule in the Legion.  
It was a spectacle that caught the heart. Most of the inhabitants of Wayrest rushed to look at it. So the townspeople gathered in the nearby alleys or on the doorstep. There were even women to throw flowers at them.

On the rampart, a sixteen-year-old girl was watching the show. Her eyes were purple like her long hair adorned with a ribbon on the side. She was really a very beautiful girl dressed in a long pink dress adorned with lace. She was recognized for her kindness and character, but she attracted a great deal of attention from men... let's say she had been generously endowed by nature, especially considering that she was reincarnated Japanese.

Sakura Tohsaka... who - in another life- had been Sakura Matou, the real Rider Master turned to her neighbor:  
\- _Neesan_ is right... they look very much like ancient Romans.

The man was slumped among the crates and the stacked barrels to form a kind of throne. With his legs crossed, he seemed perfectly relaxed. The warrior dressed in black leather armor leaving his arms bare and wrapped himself in a torn red cape, his face was almost invisible in the penumbra of the hood. But the skin of his arms was as if tanned by the sun. The man's silver eyes looked for a moment at the imperial parade. Sakura didn't know, but the man had fought the Romans of the imperial era... _Alaya_ had sent _Counter Guardian _Emiya to eliminate those responsible for the Rome fire in 79 of the Common Era.

Archer had an ironic face:

\- Let's say a Roman legion reviewed by Hollywood...

The former Servant appointed the next cohort, an independent unit composed of auxiliaries. Men adopted the same training as their predecessors. However, only officers, centurions and _Signiferi_ had armor of steel. The others had to settle for leather armor or quilted.

Then came imperial knights. They wore armor of iron plates with helmets resembling the Corinthian helmets of Greek antiquity, surmounted by a crest of horsehair finished making them impressive.  
Sakura clapped her hands with exultation and Archer smiled...

At least her reincarnation had allowed the young Tohsaka to find her smile again. In her previous life, she had appeared so... empty. Rin had explained to his former Servant the wish of Emiya Shiro... The Heroic Spirit reincarnated sighed... quite the kind of thing that this idiot could want: "everyone must have a second chance". And now this earthworm of Shinji raised armies of the undead to besiege Wayrest and Angra Mainyu, the king of demons, threatened to rise to the rank of god of evil and destroy the world of Nirn. Well done, Shiro!

As every time Archer resurfaced his old anger at his younger, much more naive and immensely stupid version, he felt his stomach contract and a taste of steel invade his mouth. God... if only he could have killed him!

_Alaya_'s old dog forced himself to open his clenched fists and had a mocking smile. What was done was done, nothing could be changed. Moreover, as an individual, Archer had no reason to complain. He had finally managed to escape the chains of eternal servitude...

Of course, he was no longer the _Counter Guardian_ Emiya. However, centuries to fight those who threatened to destroy humanity had indelibly marked Archer. Even on another world, he could not run away from a fight of this kind. His skill "Clairvoyance" rank C had led him to Rin. His former Master was to play a crucial role in the coming events... and this had been verified. After all, she had brought him here and if Wayrest fell, the orcs could no longer be arrested... which would cause enough suffering for Angra Mainyu to reincarnate as the Supreme Principle of Evil.

Again, it was up to Archer to fix his younger, stupider self, nonsense's.

* * *

(1) They are mirrors of Archimedes, an effective weapon that concentrates the sunlight to ignite the sails.


	15. Chapter 15 The Prophecy

**The Prophecy**

* * *

The banquet hall of King Gothryd was a large rectangular room. The walls were decorated with large banners, weapons and tapestries. The table of the feast formed a long U. In its central part, one could see the king and his relatives, the back heated by a large fireplace.

The monarch was not thirty-five years old. Wavy hair, as brown as his piercing eyes under eternally frowned eyebrows, he seemed ceaselessly suspicious. He was dressed in a long, scalloped-sleeved greatcoat cut from white silk and decorated with vegetal motifs. He only wore his necklace of Grand Master of the Order of the Dragon, made of heavy gold plates inlaid with jewels, and the splendid royal crown, decorated with rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

His wife was standing to his left. Queen Aubrk-i, daughter of King Camlorn of Martenfell, was sitting in a carved cathedrum. She was a beautiful Redguard. Like all members of this people, she had black skin. Her long hair was carefully brushed back and girded by a gold-plated tiara and diamonds. She wore a beautiful cotardia (1) of red satin embroidered with gold threads.

Of course, in a society as hierarchical as a feudal kingdom, the place occupied by each reflected its rank. The members of the royal family, their close advisors ate by their side. The nobles of high ranks were located further from the fireplace. Then, the courtesans and the smaller guests who found themselves pushed back to the ends of the two branches of the U formed by the banquet table.  
All, however, ate in silver dishes, surrounded by many servants. Each high-ranking nobleman had his own carving squire to prepare his food, and above all to ensure that his master was not poisoned. Young pages dressed in green tobard adorned with the red dragon came and went. Some wore basins and ewers so that the guests washed their hands, while others filled the wine cups.

In the center of the U-shaped table various artists performed between each service. And so wandering actors played after skilled jugglers, the king's fool and his countless funny stories, tame monsters and troubadours singing ancient legends.

The feast was given by King Gothryd in honor of the recent victory against the lichs who had dared to assail his capital of Daggerfall.

The fourth service began with a procession of servants from the kitchens. They carried dishes where roosters still rissolated, golden and crispy skin, surrounded by vegetables and arranged with art. The sommeliers accompanied them to exchange the bottles of white wine that had accompanied the fish and lobsters of the third service with a spicy red wine.

All those people were talking.

Intimate enemies exchanged missives carried by their servants, trading or threatening each other. Gallant knights boasted their prowess in front of beautiful damsels with rich adornments. They all spoke of politics, because everything was political in the court of a Breton king.

* * *

Among the great lords was a trio of intruders. The three young who had distinguished themselves most in battle had been seated as close to the king as was expedient.

Shiro Emiya, dressed in blue and white velvet, sat between Artoria Pendragon and Rin Tohsaka. If the reincarnated Japanese yielded to local fashion, wearing a red silk dress of Beau Maintien that was reminiscent of that of the queen, Saber had dressed as a man. Her doblet had punctured sleeves, which showed a red silk lining embroidered with gold tulips. As usual, she was superb and the male costume was not deceiving. Much more, this cold and graceful beauty distilled a murky feeling in such an outfit.

As usual, Artoria showed a good appetite. She sometimes responded briefly to her neighbor on the left - a little too enterprising for her taste- but did nothing to feed the conversation. As for Rin, she constantly frowned and did not hide her bad mood. Over the past few days, she had tried to access the royal archives to learn more about the last two fragments of the Corvus Crystal... Unfortunately, even her recent status as a local hero did not give her access to certain parts of the castle.

Between his two silent neighbors, Shiro felt embarrassed and it was obvious... Especially, since on several occasions, servants had come to bring him letters from gents damsels interested in... Let's say learn more about the young hero... and more so if affinity.

To his left, Artoria had welcomed every new missive with a furious lip pinch. Shiro laughed awkwardly:

\- I have no intention of joining one of them, you know.

\- Shiro, you do not owe me any explanation. After all, if you decide to go to see one of these noble damsels, it is up to you. It's not like I waited 15 years for you after all.

The coldness in the voice of his friend had probably frozen the wine in the cups, but the Hero of the Swords hardly swallowed, spreading with one the finger the -suddenly- tight collar. He was suffocating... he didn't know why.

Shiro had only seen this frosty expression once at Artoria. The day Fuji-nee took charge of the evening meal and prepared a _tamagoyaki_. Until then, Shiro had thought that anyone could make an omelet. That it was inscribed in everyone's genes. So he had promised Artoria that Taiga would do well... except that Taiga had completely missed the dish that was so inedible that his Servant had not even finished her first plate! Feeling betrayed she had made him pay dearly during their next (truly infernal) training.

Obviously, between the affairs of the heart and the contents of her plate, there was not a great difference in Saber's eyes!

* * *

The exchange between her two friends had taken Rin out of her gloomy thoughts. Amused, she prepared to intervene. It was the perfect time to rub Shiro in. The fact that it was a royal banquet and that the exchange was listened to by all was not enough to hold it back. She inherited a family curse that made her make etiquette errors at the worst possible time...

However, a tingling through her _Magic Circuits_ stopped her. In an instant, her mischievous smile was replaced by a restless pout. Among the guests, everyone who had a sensitivity to magic reacted in a similar way. Before anyone had time to warn, it started.

Between the entrance door and the end of the table, a golden, green and violet light form unfolded. In an instant the swirl of color deformed and reformed into a feminine silhouette leaning on a long staff, a raven perched on her shoulder. Her dress, long and split on the side, was green. Her black hair was flowing freely in her back and on her chest. Her eyes were surrounded by a make-up, almost a mask that represented a butterfly with outstretched wings.

The stranger's outbursts smothered all the conversations, except for a few shouts of surprise.  
All the activity froze in the banquet hall. It emanated from this woman a feeling of power and strangeness. It was not a simple Magus - if it exists at all- but a powerful person, wrapped in an aura of mystery.

Saber was the first to react, rising from her seat:

\- Who dares to come without being invited to the feast of Gothryd king of Daenia? The knife went into the meat and the wine is in the cup. No one can enter without asking the doorman, who in turn cannot open without the king's consent. Let not your tongue remain as dead in your mouth. Name yourself and explain the reasons for your intrusion into these peaceful places! (2)

Shiro noted that Artoria had not dropped her table knife... a derisory weapon if he is, but the only one at her disposal. The Jane Doe was just looking at Saber and her friends... and she only took a brief look at the rest of the room. Her voice rose, calm and peaceful:

\- My name is Le Fey, son of Uther. I come as I please. No door is closed for me. Besides, is it not the custom that the gate be opened for those who come to bring their art to the king? I am not an enemy of King Gothryd and beg him to excuse me for disturbing his meal by my presence.

The young sovereign was now surrounded by several dragon guards in armor of plates, the face invisible behind their helmets reinforced and brandishing spears. Others were headed for Le Fey who knew them superbly.

As for Artoria, she briefly showed a shocked expression. Le Fey? It was the nickname of her half-sister Morgane. Moreover...

\- Son of Uther?

The Fey smiles:

\- As I say, I bring my art which is that of prophecy. My prediction concerns you, O Arthur Pendragon. You have come to Nirn to fulfill your destiny. Your hands and those of Shiro Emiya will guide the destiny of the Tamriel Empire. You pulled yourself out of the hill blushed by the blood of fallen knights and the ruins of a kingdom destroyed by treason passing twice by the fire of war. Dead, you were born a second time the day a great king fell. The omens of heaven have announced that the crown that lies in the mud will soon rest on your forehead.

The announcement of Le Fey caused a real commotion among the participants of the banquet.

Gothryd recalled his guards before they intervened. A hand under the chin, he looked alternately towards Artoria and Shiro or towards Le Fey. Gothryd seemed interested. However, the crease in his mouth also marked a deep irritation.

Artoria glanced at Rin, and she nodded, urging her to continue the strange dialogue.

\- I am not asking for a crown.

\- Yes, but do you really have a choice in this matter ? Are those who demand a crown really the most worthy to wear them? The good king brings victory to the kingdom, the bad king leads it to defeat. O King Arthur, as always you will have to gird Excalibur to fight against the demon of silt and shadow. You will have to travel between the daggers aiming at your back, the bravado of the arrogant, and the murmurs of the schemers.

\- Where should I go?

\- You are holding a piece of crystal, a fragment of a key, the beginning of a road. Along the shore of the shipwreckers, to the distant north, passes the plains and rivers to reach the land of the tyrant sitting on a throne of children's bones. Like you, he comes from the world of the Grail. Master defeated by his own Servant, brought back to life as Shiro Emiya wanted.

With her finger, Le Fey pointed to the redhead blacksmith who quivered in response. Nevertheless, the prophetess continued:

\- The second shard you will find in the wood where the gallows grow, carrying their fruit of death hung on their noose. Look for the greatest scourge, the _Reikr_ with blue skin, evil wizard that ravages the country. He has it. Then climbed the ungodly mountains by circled paths, to the tyrant's castle. The last sparkle is there. Put the pieces together and restore the entire Elf Crystal. However, guard yourself from the last guardian of the Sword of Promised Victory. In Oblivion awaits you the man who dresses himself in all the sins of mortals, bound in chain of madness. The hungry wolf caught in the trap that devours it own leg, the Uroboros that self-engendering. This is the end of my prediction, O King of the Knights, be your own interpreter.

Le Fey struck the ground with her staff and disappeared.

* * *

As everyone looked at them, Rin stood up:

\- I have no appetite. Let's go!

Artoria cast a sad look at her plate, but nodded:

\- Where are we going?

\- At the castle library. The "tyrant" of which Le Fey has just spoken is one of the Masters of the Fourth Grail War brought back to life by Shiro's reckless wish.

They walked through the doors that the guards opened before them. In the banquet room, the conversations resumed into a formidable hubbub as everyone began to speak at the same time.  
Shiro followed Rin still shocked by the words of Le Fey: "A throne of children's bones"... He squeezed his fists with anger. Perceiving the trouble of her lover, Artoria drew closer for him. She stared at him, and smiled softly:

\- Shiro, I understand how you feel. However, you have no reason to feel guilty. You gave all the victims of the Grail War a chance to start their lives over Nirn. It was generous of you. Nevertheless...  
Saber's beautiful face hardens:

-Nevertheless, this does not absolve you of your responsibility. If the tyrant Le Fey spoke of is here because of you, it is up to you to put an end to his actions.

The blacksmith with amber eyes shivered, understanding the implications of these words. He agreed, however:  
\- Believe me, I am well aware of that.

A little refreshed, he then turned to Tohsaka:

\- Do you have any idea who we're looking for?

Rin sighed haughtily:

\- Sure! You forget who you're talking to! I'm a genius! We're looking for Atrum Galliasta...  
\- Who?

\- Caster's original Master!

Shiro and Artoria exchanged an interrogative look, then Saber spoke for them both:

\- Not that I doubt the relevance of your reasoning, but how do you know?

Rin took a meditative look:

\- Well, we met all but three (3) of the Masters. As head of the Tohsaka house, I...

She paused and grimaced:

\- No, I _had_ the duty to monitor who came into my domain. The Magi were required to report to me. Obviously, those who came as an enemy did not. With the approach of the Fourth Grail War, I therefore endeavored to locate the Magi who might be involved. Remember I found out that Kirei killed the Master of Lancer?

Her two friends acquiesced as they continued to walk in the halls. Rin passed in front of them and pushed a door leading to the huge library of the castle:

\- During this research, I also located Atrum Galliasta. Except that he had already been killed and his home destroyed by fire. It was the work of another Master, at least that's what I thought then. Since Caster had already been killed by Gilgamesh, it didn't matter. So I didn't tell you about it.

Shiro had stopped to look at the thousands of books that were spreading in rows after rows to rush to the walls:

\- And what are we looking for here?

Saber approached a shelving section to consider the labels explaining the classification:  
\- An armorial!

\- A what?

Tohsaka looked up to the sky:

\- A book drawing the coats of arms of aristocratic families, you moron. How did you manage to live all this time in a medieval world without learning that it's the equivalent of a phone book? We are looking for a tyrant, therefore a great lord. We should find information about Galliasta in a book like this.

* * *

The next morning, at dawn, Artoria and his companions left Daggerfall. They thus rode part of the morning in autumn rain following the roads that led them from village to village. After a lunch stop, they set off again through a thick forest.

The neighing of Rin's horse reverberated in the vegetable cathedral formed by the thousands of trunks that closed their branches above their heads. The Magus patted the neckline of her mount, inspecting the trees that tasted all around them. The brown-red soil, under its cover of dead leaves, was soaked to the point of being spongy. The rain had stopped before they entered the forest. However, the branches continued to shed their excess water.

\- It's a good spot for mushrooms. Maybe we could stop and find some.

Rin Tohsaka turned to Shiro who had just spoken. The young man, with his hands crossed on the knob of his saddle, smiled at her and she gave him back mechanically before blushing, then turning her head:

\- Only you think about cooking at a time like this.

Shiro laughs:

\- A fresh mushroom fricassee is excellent. You need mushrooms, oil, herbs, parsley, and garlic. Once you rinse the mushrooms, you fry them in the pan, and then chop the herb mixture that you add...  
The recipe was interrupted by a rumble similar to thunder. Rin and Shiro turned to the little blonde in armor of plates who rode in the tail of the column, pulling a pack horse. Despite a little red on the cheeks, Artoria pretended to have nothing to do with this phenomenon.

Her friends were not fooled. Rin gently mocked:

\- Already hungry? We ate an hour ago!

\- I can't help it, I have a rapid metabolism!

\- The appetite of a dragon, yes, adds Shiro.

Artoria shot him with the same gaze that Caesar had given Brutus as he stabbed him, but looked away, doing the one that didn't stop to answering criticism.

\- The food budget was to be raised in your home during the Grail War, Rin continued.

\- She ate more than Fuji-nee- who already counted for two- you, Sakura and I... fortunately that Archer did not need to eat; otherwise I would have had to declare forfeit for lack of money to feed my Servant.

After a mad laugh of the two magi (and the wrinkled silence of Artoria), they looked at each other. Rin showed a little astonishment:

\- You have changed, before you would have defended Saber instead of laughing with me. Would the pure, noble, straight and stupid Shiro have grown?

The blacksmith with amber eyes had a sad smile:

\- I have lived another 17 years. Many things have happened to me... and not many pleasant things. I suppose the causticity of my humor is the result.

There was an awkward silence and Shiro coughed in his fist before changing the subject:

\- Does anyone know what a _Reikr_ is?

\- A _Reikr_ surprised Tosaka.

\- Yes, yesterday Le Fey mentioned a _Reikr_, a blue-skinned wizard. It would have a crystal shard.  
It was Artoria who replied:

\- The _Reikrs_ are goblinoids. They look like Orcs, with the same size, features and musculature. In fact, they are different from them only by their blue skin and their much more primitive civilization. We only meet them in the Wrothgar Mountains.

\- Except that he would live in the Duchy of Verandia, remarked the Magus.

Saber nodded her head. The research in the library had taught them that Atrum Galliasta had become duke of Verandia after the simultaneous disappearance of his older brother, his wife and their three children.

Galliasta had an appalling reputation. His subjects were burdened with taxes and his seigneury was almost constantly at war with at least one of his neighbors. The people suffered all the more because the fate seemed to be taking hold of the duchy since Atrum Galliasta came to power. Poor harvests replaced epidemics and floods. The robbers ransomed the travelers; the woods were infested with goblins and monsters. One could not even count on ducal justice. Duke Atrum had surrounded himself with mysterious black knights who had replaced the soldiers of his predecessor. They were said to be worse than the bandits that they were supposed to fight and the trees were drowning under the weight of the hanged.

Rumor has it that Galliasta sacrificed children to a mysterious god of darkness.

* * *

Shiro opened the road, walking in the shade of the century-old trees that bordered the trail. Leaves swirled in the air. The thick carpet they left on the ground suffocated the horses' footsteps. In the distance, sounds the howling of a wolf. This was the only visible sign of life in the undergrowth. There were no birds, no squirrels, not a single animal. When the trio came out of the forest, the Beldana Mountains offered themselves in all their splendor. The highest peaks were already covered with snow, announcing an early and harsh winter. The ravished, crinkled, hilly landscape appeared amidst the mists that stagnated in the deepest valleys. A section of mountain, skinned by erosion, rose vertically at their side, sinking deep into the plain. Other spurs, almost similar, surrounded it. The horses chipped before sinking into the new path that opened up to them.  
\- Look at it!

Rin showed blue ribbons that one hand had attached to the branches.

\- What does that mean?

Artoria and Shiro knew nothing about it but were a little worried. The second one concentrated to brought up Caliburn and tended the sword to Saber:

\- You might need a magic blade.

In fact, the knight had returned the Runic Spear to his possessor's family and could no longer count on anything but ordinary weapons.

Along the marked-out path, Rin Tohsaka, Artoria Pendragon, and Shiro arrived at a meadow covered with dead leaves. The air smelled of acid perfume from conifers and moisture. In the middle of this clearing flowed a clear singing river spanned by a stone bridge. Magnificent silk lodges embroidered with gold had been erected on both banks. Their chamfered fabrics changed in color as the sun's play hid between the clouds.

While their valets and their squires were going, gallant knights were walking their ladies on their arms. At the end of long silk leashes or at their bird's glove, they displayed white greyhounds and noble raptors.

At the sight of their many banners that were pounding in the wind, Artoria turned to Shiro to deploy her. There was a surprising silence. The nobles of High-Rock raised their eyes to the unknown banner: a silver lion crawling with azure.

Armed in war, a knight mounted on a steed of white foam planted himself in the middle of the bridge, blocking the road of the riders. His great harnois (4) of quicksilver plates was shimmering like ice on a full moon night. He held in his fist a long lance of joust, the heel placed in his stirrup. A shield with the buckle decorated with many gems was passed at his neck. The only hiatus of this warrior painting, he proudly prance around, with his head bare, leaving his long blond sand hair cascading in braids and wicks free around his pale face. Artoria was surprised by the appearance of great nobility of the arrogant, only wasted by the muzzle of disdain that exceeded his fine features.  
\- Holà, gente dame! You arrive full of spirit and well accompanied! But what right do you have to carry at the head of your formation an unknown banner of the armorial of the nobles of High-Rock ?!  
\- I am Artoria Pendragon, Knight of the Order of the Rose of Menevia.

\- I have never heard of a High-Rock nobleman named Artoria Pendragon! To me, you are usurping your title, your rank and your prerogatives!

The King of the Knights kept himself with all the mastery he had gained in a lifetime. However, she felt ashamed and insulted to be treated in such a way.

\- A _pas périlleux _, murmured Saber.

Although she spoke for herself, Shiro heard it:

\- A what is it?

Rin held him by the arm and waved his silence before pulling him aside to explain the situation:  
\- It is a trial. A knight blocks a passage and anyone who wants to borrow it must challenge him. But look closely, don't you recognize these noble people?

Indeed, many of the knights and ladies had taken part in the feast yesterday... and listened to the prophecy.  
\- Everything was arranged by our great friend King Gothryd, continued Rin.

\- But why is that?

The Magus lifted her eyes to heaven:

\- You investigating the death of King Lysandus next to a woman who was born on the day of his death and who must, I quote, "raise a crown fallen in the mud". Why you are surprised that the reigning sovereign takes umbrage?

\- I am particularly surprised that he has let us leave Daggerfall.

\- We were his hosts, therefore sacred. However, if we die on the way, it will just be bad luck.

While they were chatting, Artoria had continued to exchange with the knight who challenged her while the noble Bretons had grouped together so as not to lose anything from the clash.

\- On this, noble stranger, have the decency to name you, since I have done so and the politeness requires that I be answered.

The knight bowed with a stiff movement of the chin.

\- François Viralaine is my name and I am a knight of the Order of the Dragon.

Artoria Pendragon greeted her opposite, who replied only with disdain:

\- Sir Knight, since I must accept to confront you with a courteous spear (5).

\- Yes, this place has its own rules. You are on one side of this bridge and I am on the other. Now, I swore that if you wanted to cross it you would first have to compete with me in a joust "par amour" (6).

\- What if I lose?

\- You must pledge allegiance to King Gothryd.

Artoria turned her head to contemplate the other side and the Breton lords who came to witness her humiliation. After all what was she to them? A 15-year-old girl, in bad armor, facing one of the most brilliant knights of their order, mounted on a warhorse of great price and wearing a full quicksilver plate armor. François Viralaine's arrogance was easily understood.

\- I see, Saber replied.

François Viralaine's squire pressed to his lord to bring him his helmet. It was a silver armet stuffed with a feather fixed in its upper part. Artoria, for her part, received a courteous spear without cutting edge. Each at one end of the bridge, the gallant knight crossed their _faulcres_ (7) over the shoulder. Then they placed the heel of their spear in the hollow of the cup worn by the harness.  
The two noblemen on horseback, with their raised kite shield, defied their spears before setting their mounts.  
The contact was rough and the clearing resounded with a blast of hell when the spears struck the shields. The King of the Knights shield, adorned with a lion, saw its steel strapping jump while her lance burst into a thousand pieces. François barely vacillated, is shield and his haste just scratched.  
Returning to her starting point, Artoria seized her second spear and returned to the field. The second assault was as violent as the first. Again, Saber saw his weapon shatter into wood chips, while the blunt end of her rival's spear struck her shield hard.

While lords and beautiful ladies applauded the engagement, the king of Britain regained her end of the bridge. Shiro was already waiting for her bringing the third spear. According to the terms of this kind of joust, it was the last. If this one breaks, it will her lose.

The weapon wedged in the cup of the _faulcre_ and the elbow tight to her flank, Artoria raised her shield. At the other end of the bridge, her rival did the same. The king of Britain pushed her heels into the side of her mount. In response, the warhorse leaped like the wind, its hooves hammering the stones of the bridge.

In an instant, the two Bretons swallowed the entire span of the bridge and crossed. This time, the king of Brittany did not touch the shield of François Viralaine and alone cashed the strength of the charge. Thrown aside, she clung to the saddle and stopped at the end of the lice.

The two gallant knights began to steer their mounts again. However, the result was very different from previous assaults. The spear of the king of Brittany touched the shield of François without breaking and the shock tore the proud knight from the back of his mount to send him rolled in the dust.  
Surprised by the crash, the steed of the King of Knights leapt with a neigh. Breathless, Artoria lowered her lance and flattened the neck of her mount to stop his race. She turned around to look at her rival lying on the ground, surrounded by her squire and caretakers.

* * *

There was a long moment of astonished silence. François Viralaine had dominated the whole fight and suddenly... the victory was returned to Artoria Pendragon who had turned the whole confrontation on one blow.

The Bretons lords suddenly burst out in praise. Once they had snatched her from her steed, they carried her triumphantly to the bridge while their beautiful friends applauded her. Driven to the end of the clearing, Artoria was laid before a very richly decorated tent.

It was a vast kiosk with silk cords and alabaster stakes crowned with golden falcons. Its sides and roof were made of beautiful gold cloth. In the interior, one could first discern a sumptuous bed stretched with arachnidan sheets and a blanket of ermine fur with the lining of green cloth fringed with gold droplets. At the bedside, there was a profusion of pillows and perfumed satin pillows. Around, carpets of camelot fabric hid the floor. On either side of the headboard were two beautiful seats covered with embroidered cushions. To complete this furniture, there was still a large precious candlestick that carried oil lamps and a wide table. It had been erected in the middle of the tent and covered with a very white tablecloth. Tableware of great price had been placed there: Silver cutters, ivory knives and gold plates.

Several valets approached Lady Artoria and rushed to help her remove her armor. She was then brought a silver aquashackle and a white towel so that she could wash her hands and face. Once the dust of the roads had left him, one of the valets opened a very beautiful chest to get some quality clothes.  
\- Madam, you can sleep in peace tonight, we will take care of everything. We will also take care of your crew and horses.

Two pages entered in turn to bring fragrant wines with pine cones, flavored liquors with iris roots. Behind them, two others still followed, their arms overflowing with large steaming dishes. There was nettle soup; fish in sauce; vegetables; boar legs with salt and juniper; bread with caraway grain; cheeses; honey cakes sprinkled with poppy seeds. When the king of Britain sat down at the table, they lit the golden candlesticks at the ends of the table and began the service.  
It was good timing, Saber was hungry... but that was often the case!

* * *

(1) The cotardia (or "_cotte-hardi_e" in French) is a woman's dress whose only opening is the collar. It is worn without a belt. It is recognizable by its long sleeves that drag to the ground. It is also called "_Robe de beau maintien_".

(2) This passage must seem strange to you. It is based on an exchange drawn from the _Kuhwch and Olwen _one of the branches of the _Mabinogion_, the oldest text of the Arthurian legend, in Welsh language. So the wording is very archaic.

(3) Two in fact, but in F/SN (the game), Rin never had the opportunity to learn that Assassin had Medea for Master.

(4) Full polished armor.

(5)Courteous weapons are weapons of jousting and tournament, they are blunt to avoid deadly blows.  
(6) Jousting "_par amour_", it is a clash with blunt weapons. The goal is not to kill, but to win. The subjugated is, however, the hostage of the victor, he must redeem his freedom. The victor can also take his horse, his armor and his weapons.

(7) A harness supporting a cup where the heel of the knight's lance is lodged.


	16. Chapter 16 The Wrecks' Coast

**The wrecks' coast**

* * *

In the inn of the "Sea Serpent", Artoria was the first to wake up. She shared the bed with Rin Tohsaka. The young woman still slept deeply, her face turned to hers, and the blond knight had a light smile. The rested features, her friend looked like an angel... It was enough that she opened her mouth to erase this impression.

Taking care not to disturb the Magus, the King of the Knights washed her in the basin of water, and then began to comb her hair. The mat she wrapped around her head required a lot of work. After brushing her hair, she separated the gold threads in three, casting part on her two shoulders. Then Artoria attached those who were still falling into her neck and used them to form a bun. Then she made two braids that she held around the bun with pins before tying them together with a blue ribbon.  
Despite the noise in the inn, nothing had awakened Rin. Amused by the heaviness of her sleep, but also a little annoyed, Artoria came to shake the Magus.

There was a grunt followed by a few unintelligible words.

Artoria sighed and called her while continuing to touch her shoulder.

\- Five minutes...

\- No, Rin, we have to leave as soon as possible. You have to get up and get dressed. We're not safe here.  
These few words caused the Japanese to react, who finally got into bed. However, the glassy gaze with which she swept the poor furniture of the room could hardly be qualified as alert.

\- I am going down to order us breakfast.

Saber left the room, leaving behind Rin Tohsaka, struggling to wake up.

To tell you the truth, the Magus looked like a zombie... okay, a very pretty zombie... but brought back to life by an amateur necromancer. The pale skin, long black hair... now tangled, she was covering the world with a bovine look and slowly began to lean to the side. Recovering, the girl yawns and stands before moving very softly towards the toilet bowl... hitting the wall... staring at it for thirty seconds before changing direction to the real bowl!

* * *

The sword at the side, but only dressed in a gambeson (an armor of quilted fabric) Artoria went out into the corridor to discover that Shiro was already up. She heard him talking to the cook, an Argonian. When she arrived in the great hall, the King of the Knights had an amused smile. The young Japanese reincarnated... gave a cooking class to the inn owners.

It was so predictable. First Shiro Emiya didn't like anything more than helping others. Second, he was the best cook Artoria ever met.

The teenager finished frying rice while Deep-Dive, the cook, would fry a mixture of vegetables and meat. Although busy with his own task, Shiro watched over his neighbor's work:

\- Well, we will now add the sauce... unfortunately we don't have any sake, mirin, or even soy sauce for the preparation and will have to settle for the white wine and tomatoes that I made for you.

The lizard woman nodded as Shiro discovered Artoria looking at them from the bottom of the stairs:  
\- Sit down, we'll finish soon. Rin is coming?

\- If she hasn't gone back to sleep...

The two friends sighed simultaneously. The Magus had the deepest sleep they had ever seen and had an extraordinary ease of going back to sleep.

Artoria sat at a table where she could see the two cooks working. Shiro now incorporated the rice sauce, with the precise gestures worthy of the chef of great restaurant. This did not prevent him from giving advice to Deep-Dive who was preparing an omelet.

The smell rising from the kitchen caused a rumble in her stomach, while the water came to Saber's mouth. Watching them was a real torment... that contributed to the final reward.

After placing one third of the mixture on the omelet, Shiro replaced Deep-Dive to show her how to flip an omelet without breaking it. Then he came to serve Artoria. Fortunately, the typical Japanese rice omelet was not the only dish and the fish, toasted toast, butter and jam quickly gathered around the King of Knights.

Rin - a bit more alive- came to join her, accompanied by Shiro who had finally finished his cooking class.

While they were eating, the Magus awoke enough to speak:

\- So what is the program today? We arrived in Verandia, but we still have to find the two fragments of Crystal that Le Fey placed on us so "precisely".

Tohsaka's usual irony actually insisted on the vague nature of the prophecy. In the last ten days, the young people had crossed mountains, plains and waterways as Le Fey had said. But the last two elements of his description of the route they were to follow were more particular... a shipwrecker's coast and a forest where the gallows grow.

Artoria looked calmly at her friend. After years of reign guided by Merlin's advice, she understood her frustration:

\- Prophecies are generally understood only once they are fulfilled.

\- Why do the gods never do things simply? Maybe give us a map with indications like "here, crystal fragment"?  
Shiro and Artoria exchanged a half-exasperated, half-amused look. The amber-eyed blacksmith took an ironic view:

\- You almost sound like a goddess yourself.

Rin squished her eyes and smiled in a perfectly evil way:

\- I would probably make a goddess more than acceptable.

As Shiro shook his head, Saber simply emptied her third plate. While demanding a supplement from her lover, she turned to Tohsaka:

\- And what kind of goddess would you be?

In a surprising way Rin blushed and turned her head aside, fleeing Shiro's gaze. She hesitated before answering with a very small voice that did not resemble her usual assurance:

\- A goddess of love.

Arturia and Shiro made heroic efforts to try to suppress the mad-laugh crisis that threatened to erupt. What seeing, Tohsaka pounded with anger. A moment later, she stood on her chair, one foot on the table and pointed to them with an accusing finger:

\- Dare to say that I will not make an excellent goddess of love!

Shiro looked down. He too had a touch of red on his cheeks, but for a very different reason. White...

\- Rin... you forgot again that you wear a very short skirt.

\- Hiiiiiii... perverts!

\- Um... it's not like I asked to see your pan...

A noise startled the honest people walking in the street. As if someone had violently slammed a door.

* * *

Far from there, in a land where eternal snow fell, was a strange ring-shaped building. A Mesopotamian goddess with little clothing suddenly sneezed and stopped: "Would anyone dare to disrespect Ishtar?"

* * *

Hollow Bottom was a community in the Duchy of Verandia. It was a place hard to see, a fishing village with a few plank huts around a cove. The place smelled like rotten fish and was only decorated with fishing nets drying out. A pier of rotten boards was home to boats that were oscillating in the dirty water where debris floated.

Rin, Artoria and Shiro crossed Hollow Bottom along the imperial road, one of these solid paved roads built by Cyrodiil's engineers. After descending into the coastal valley, the track went up north, cutting off a peninsula.

The horses carrying the travelers followed by a pack animal skirted a high limestone cliff. From there, they discovered a coast landscape of wild beauty covered by a grey autumn sky. The Azurian Ocean stretched westward almost indefinitely, overflowing with seagulls screaming in the wind. To the south, one could see an island. It was not so distant from the land and the ocean, at low tide, revealed a narrow beach that connected it to the coast. Here, a succession of limestone needles carved by erosion emerged.

Hazily discerning something, Shiro reinforced his sight:

\- Wrecks! Shipwrecks!

Artoria, who followed him holding the horse carrying their luggage, look towards the stone teeth:

\- What about wrecks?

Shiro turned around and no one could have missed the mark showing a perfectly drawn hand, in red, on his left cheek.

Although busy sulking, Rin agreed to speak:

\- Artoria, can you ask this pervert how many ships there are?

Saber gave Shiro a poor smile. Shiro once again paid for their friend's bad character. However, she did not need to convey the message because the blacksmith had heard it perfectly.

\- Three ships, Rin. Two are merchant ships, the third a warship. They probably ripped open on the reefs in a storm, but... there's a lighthouse at the end of the island.

Tohsaka rubbed her lips, eyes lost in the undertow at the foot of the cliff.

\- We found the shore of the shipwreckers...

She took a map out of her bag and unrolled it, following the path with her finger. The village of Hollow Bottom, the peninsula with the island... even the rocky teeth and the lighthouse were represented on the scroll of vellum ragpaper. The road went further north and turned east towards the capital of the duchy, the city of Crestshade. The city was about two days away by horse, but before evening they would wait for a vast forest that stretched almost to its ramparts.  
Probably it was the "forest where the gallows grew".

\- Let us not linger!

Shiro wanted to protest, but Rin cut him off:

\- Nothing can be done about the shipwreckers and nothing for the victims. What do you want to do? Wait until the next storm? Very noble, but people are waiting for us to release them in Wayrest. The most important thing remains to find Excalibur and to save Menevia.

Shiro nodded. He remembered a certain evening spent watching the moon with his adoptive father. "You can't save everyone," Kiritsugu said. "Even a hero has to choose who he wants to save". It was the memory of another life, but he was just beginning to understand it.

* * *

The imperial way had reached a century-old forest. Oaks, birches and elms now lined it on all sides. Autumn had stripped these trees and the bare branches were tending in the cold wind that was circulating between the trunks, swirling heaps of dead leaves.

The night had fallen and above the travelers the two moons of Nirn shone.

However, the trio continued to advance, in search of a place to establish their camp. In front of the small group, Shiro suddenly stopped. Hearing faint cries:

\- They... they...

At the turn of a large tree, a small clearing had been set up at the side of the road to accommodate... pillories placed on top of a mound. There was an old man dressed in habit, his head and hands caught in a heavy shackle of wood. His hail voice reached the blacksmith. He muttered incomprehensible things and staring at the shadows of the forest.

Shiro glanced around him and discovered movements behind the tree curtain. Jumping from the horse, he summoned Kanshou and Bakuya.

\- Rin, will deliver the old man. Saber, we are not alone.

-I saw, just note the knight.

As the Magus sprang from her horse and move towards the prisoner, unfamiliar grunts rose from nearby woods. Rin came to rest, her right arm extended, and her left hand in support. His pair of Chinese swords crossed in front of him, Shiro retreated without losing sight of the movements of the shadows. Saber the flank on the other side drawn sword, raised shield. The horses showed signs of great nervousness...

And then they came out of nowhere!

Clothed in ragged clothing, their faces were decomposed with eyes like sinkholes of shadow. Their mouths opened in a terrible grimace discovered yellow fangs.

Six of these undead were rushing towards them, much faster than zombies.

-_Gandr_!

A barrage of black projectiles haloed with red crossed the night. Two monsters collapsed. Shiro already acted. Throwing Kanshou, he mowed one of the creatures. A third jumped towards Rin... but was repelled by the shield of Saber, suddenly interposed. As the undead struggled to get up, the adolescent's sword blew his head off his shoulders.

Although half of the attackers were already eliminated, the others showed no signs of fear.  
Returning like a boomerang, Kanshou sank into the back of a second opponent. Shiro materialized a double of the Chinese sword to block the attack of an undead abomination that tried to tear him with its long claws.

The monster was cut in half in an instant by Saber, who had just jumped beside his lover. The amber-eyed blacksmith spun it around and his blades described an X in the air, neutralizing the last of the undead.  
The silence fell... bodies littered the ground, but none rose.

Shiro slowly lowered his twin blades:

\- What was that?

\- Ghouls, replied Rin. These are the living dead who appear when humans die in cursed places. These are cannibal monsters whose bites paralyze their prey. The one who is killed by a ghoul becomes one. Despite this, their tongue is much sought after by alchemists because it is the main ingredient of the _Potion of understanding languages_.

Shiro grabs Saber's disgusted pout from the corner of his eye. He preferred to talk about something else:  
\- Should we not help the old man?

Tohsaka nodded. As Shiro loosened the ties of the gangue, the young Magus lay the old one on the ground. Unfortunately, he was very weak. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes and smiled at them:  
\- Thank you very much, young people.

\- Why were you there, asked Rin.

The old man tried to laugh, but it was only a coarseness that ended on a straight cough:

\- Why? In Verandia, there is no reason... the Black Knights caught me on the road with their big horses and seized me because I had violated a Duke's arrest... I still do not know which... they condemned me to the pillory... until hunger and cold kill me... wherever the harpies of the forest devour me.

Saber, who stood guard with a sword in her fist, clasped:

\- Condemned without trial? Without even explaining why?

\- So it is in Verandia, Duke Astrum Galliasta condemns whom he wants. All tremble before him and no one would dare to oppose his decrees.

The old man's voice was weakening from moment to moment. Freed from the fear of the ghouls, it seemed to go out. However, he still had something to say:

\- I have nothing to offer you for rescuing me... except what I saw... south of the road, there is a river and an island in the waves. There used to be a monastery there... and there's nothing left but ruins. I was one of the monks... but we lived a dissolute life... having abandoned our vows... as I disapproved, the gods spared me. Every night, the ghosts of my former brothers haunt the ruins... However, there remains a sacred chalice on the altar. It repels the undead and the water that is poured into it is blessed... a line of holy water cannot be crossed by an undead or a demon.

Having completed his explanation, the old man's eyes closed one last time.

* * *

After having buried the monk, the three friends went back on their way, always looking for a place to spend the night. They moved eastward for half an hour... and were attacked by monstrous creatures. They flew with bats' wings; their heads looked like the skinny skull of a horse riding on a man's chest and arms!

The fight was a little longer than against the ghouls. Demonic creatures were more powerful, but fortunately vulnerable to ordinary weapons although their skin is as hard as leather. Cut into pieces by swords, struck by spells, the three monsters fell to the ground to turn into puddles of atrociously familiar black mud...

\- Angra Mainyu, swore Saber.

Rin shrugged her shoulders:

\- Do not tell me that you are surprised that it is rife in the duchy? He placed Astrum Galliasta at the head of Verandia to make this place hell. The despair of the inhabitants now nourishes Avenger. And when the suffering, hatred, and all the other curses they suffer have reached a certain threshold, Angra Mainyu will be brought back to life as a true god of evil.

They finally reached a small clearing by the side of the road and set up camp there.  
Luckily, the night passed without bad encounters.

* * *

The next day, they decided to visit the monastery that the old man had told them about. A path led them to the bank of a river. As he had told them, an island stood in the middle of the current. And the ruins could be seen from the shore.

There was even a boat to make the crossing. Next to it, they saw a man dressed in black leather, his gloved hands crossed on a two hands sword. He had an agreeable face and smiled as they approached:  
\- You need to go to the other side? I am the ferryman!

Rin came in sniffing; there was a smell of decomposition around the boatman:

\- In fact, we would like to go to the island.

The man nodded:

\- Be careful, it is haunted... finally, ghosts do not appear until nightfall. If you come back before sunset, there should be no problem. However...

With one hand, he pointed to the horses.

\- My boat is too small to take your mounts. It would be better if one of you stayed here to guard them while the other two explore the ruins.

Tohsaka suddenly felt uncomfortable, what the man said was perfectly sensible, but something made her uncomfortable. It was Artoria who spoke:

\- I'm staying, both of you go to the island.

With a gesture of the hand, she caressed the sheath of Caliburn... which Shiro had once again traced for the King of Knights. The meaning was clear and Rin smiled:

\- Very well, if you insist.

* * *

From the shore, Saber saw the boat land on the island and her friends get off. They soon disappeared among the ruins of the monastery. The ferryman, supposed to be waiting for them, turned around to come back to her.

Artoria watched him set foot on the ground without saying anything. The man smiled, enjoying the girl's appearance:

\- You are naive teenagers... you let yourselves be separated so easily. I'll be able to get a whole new body... Do you smell this rotting smell around me? I've been occupying this corps for three days.  
The young knight nodded:

\- I see... then you are a monster who steals the bodies of his victims after killing them.

\- Absolutely, terrifying, isn't it?

Saber gave him a frigid look:

\- Despicable...

The undead turned his magnetic gaze to Artoria:

\- Put your sword down.

The magic order met with unexpected resistance. Far from being affected, the teenager with golden hair drew Caliburn and attacked in the same movement. The monster was fast and agile, he backed off the first attacks... but he seemed to struggle.

Suddenly, Saber jumped over the undead and turned into the air. The ferryman remained motionless for a few moments, and then collapsed, cut in half from the shoulder to the hip. Artoria had struck while falling back...

* * *

The exploration of the island was almost without difficulty.

A small band of goblins attacked the teenagers. Rin alone would have been enough to put them on the run. With Shiro's help it was quickly over.

The monastery was abandoned. Wild grass grew in the dormitories and the commons were reduced to a few walls under rotten roofs. The temple of Stendarr however remained largely intact because it was built more solidly.

On the high altar, Rin discovered a large golden copper bowl carefully engraved and inlaid with a small ruby:

\- That must be what we are looking for.

Shiro used _Structural Analysis_ to ensure:

\- Yes, that's right.

They returned to the place where they had landed... except that the ferryman was no longer there. Nevertheless, the boat was on its way to reach them, awkwardly maneuvered by Saber. As soon as she approached the island, their friend told them about the latest events.

\- An undead taking the bodies of his victims?

Rin rubbed her chin, intrigued. Then she looked at the chalice in her hands:

\- Saber, you think you destroyed it?

\- If it were a living being, I would be affirmative. However, it is a kind of possession entity. Breaking a bottle does not destroy the water it contains.

\- All right, let's go back to the north shore.

After a few oars, they boarded near their horses to discover that the part of the corpse including the head had begun to crawl towards the forest with the only remaining arm. At this sight, Tohsaka had a perfectly evil smile:

\- Thank you, Mr Undead, I needed a guinea pig for an experiment.

The monster turned around, staring at her with his bright eyes. Rin simply activated her Magic Circuits to free a flood of Prana which drove the hypnotic influence of the creature out of her body.

Leaning towards the river, the Magus used the sacred cup to collect some of its flow:  
\- So let us see if holy water really destroys the living dead.

She poured the contents of the chalice on the head of the monster who continued to crawl in vain hope of escaping destruction. What happened was as spectacular as it was horrible... the flesh of the creature was attacked as by acid while white vapors rose to the sky. The ferryman screamed for a few moments and then crumbled into burning ashes.

\- I think it was a good thing we came.

* * *

The trio left and the whole day went by without bad encounters. Circling the forest from the east, they arrived at the end of the day in Crestshade, the capital of the duchy. The gates of the fortified city were already closed. Fortunately, Shiro had seen the sign of an inn in the outskirts.

The houses were built on the edge of the forest and Rin winced. The first trees all carried hangmen that oscillated according to the wind:

\- I believe we have found the woods where grew the gallows mentioned in the prophecy of La Fey.

Saber nodded seriously. Her gaze swept away the surroundings, noting the deserted fields, the scattered and famished herds, abandoned houses open to all winds.

The few inhabitants outside fled as the riders approached. Artoria's face froze. Once again, she had to face a bad sovereign. Vortigern was not lacking in emulations whatever the world or the time.


	17. Chapter 17 The Gallows' Wood

**StrathTGW : Thank for your continual support.**

* * *

**The Gallows' Wood**

* * *

The inn was one of the most beautiful that Shrio has seen since his arrival in High-Rock. The hearth of the fireplace, made of beautiful cut stones, was vast. Hanging from the rack, a large cauldron of flame-blackened copper warmed a soup.

The "Horned Satyr" must have existed for several centuries. The girder supporting the floor of the upstairs rooms had seen thousands of customers pass by.

Yet the beauty of the place was tarnished. The regulars, who had all turned around in one movement to watch them enter, all showed the same fearful, tired expressions and above all... apart from fear and fatigue, they seemed to feel nothing else. People are too desperate to do anything but wait for the next blow, with the feeling that it will inevitably happen. They had to endure for a very long time with nothing they could do to improve their situation.

As neither Tohsaka, nor Saber, nor Shiro resembled the duke's Black Knights, the men plunged their noses back into their mugs.

The inn was completely silent again. We heard a sap vessel burst into the fireplace and the wind blowing outside. The atmosphere was sinister, tinged by the darkest renunciation. Small details, such as the chipped plates exposed on the china cabinet, the dust on the floor, the dirty walls and the slow decay that invaded every nook, exhaustion and despair seemed to have invaded to the inert objects.  
Shiro hesitated, and then walked to the vast counter behind which officiated a big, concerned man. No longer polishing the wood with an old cloth, the man turned a face with a big moustache to the reincarnated Japanese. An old merchant habit made him smile, but the eyes remained suspicious:

\- Welcome to "Horned Satyr" I am the owner, Gondyn Kingston. What can I do for your service?  
Shiro replied with a more natural smile:

\- Two bedrooms, a place in the stables for four horses and a meal.

This last word was followed by a rumble worthy of thunder. In a Pavlov reflex, the blacksmith and the Magus in red turned to the woman in plate armor behind them. The latter blushes slightly, feigning to have heard nothing.

Gondyn coughed in his fist to mask the laughter that illuminated his eyes for a moment.

\- You are in the right place.

He turned to the one door open behind him:

\- Clotilde?

A twelve-year-old, blonde, with her face strewn with frekles, came out. She wore peasant clothes including veil and apron.

\- Yes, Father, yes?

\- Take their horses to the stable.

\- Yes, Father.

Gondyn faced his customers:

\- Take a seat at a table, we don't have much to offer in terms of food... but you will have something warm.  
Rin squished her eyes:

\- The outskirts of the town of Crestshade seem to have been devastated. What is happening here?  
The man hesitated for a moment:

\- Taxes don't leave us much, and...

A regular stood up:

-Ergot contaminated grain in silos...

\- The mildew devastated the fields, added another.

\- We can no longer hunt or cut wood in the forest, offenders are hanged.

\- The river came out of bed to flood the land.

\- And there is an epidemic of leprosy.

\- The mad hermit attacks all those who risk in the forest.

The innkeeper breathed a long sigh:

\- I do not know what you have come to do in Verandia, foreigners, but you better not linger. This land is cursed. Such a series of catastrophes is not natural... it is as if all the curses of the world were falling on us one after the other.

Rin shivered instinctively. Angra Mainyu's work could not be better described. She clears her throat and then turned to Saber:

\- We have come to this country in search of the sword of Lady Artoria.

The young female knight approached the counter:

\- Tell me, madam, have you heard of a Reikr- a kind of blue-skinned orc- that would live in the region. He would be a wizard.

\- You want to talk about Ned? What do you want from him, ma'am? I want to warn you, this wizard is using his magic to cause us the worst problems. His last act was to poison the well water... he's a bad person. Things were already difficult for us before he arrived, but since then everything has gotten worse. He lives in the forest, from where he taunts us, coming out only for bad blows. The city guards cannot follow him... because of the edict of My Lord the Duke.

Artoria had listened to the litany of unhappiness in silence. However, she replied with an angry voice:  
\- Good Man, I am a knight on a quest. Notwithstanding that I cannot leave my sword in the sheath when innocent people are being attacked. By my faith and by the name of Artoria Pendragon, I swear I will not know peace until I give this monster his last breath!

He had a brief astonished silence. Commoners were not accustomed to seeing a knight... let alone a knight who wanted to help them. Generally, aristocrats defended the widow if she was pretty, the orphan if he was of noble lineage. If a poor man begged for food, a little money, they could beat up "the insolent" that did not push themselves fast enough from their path.

This is the true face of the proud Breton knights; the fact of being "born well" made them look at the rest of the men from a mountain of arrogance.

\- What noble and courageous words!

Saber turned to the man who had just spoken; he was sitting alone at a table. His clothes were better than the other regulars. To tell you the truth, he looked more like a big bourgeois with his fur-lined sheet dress.

He stood up and bowed.

\- Madam, if you would be so kind as to share my meal.

He had uttered magic words and Shiro had an amused smile when he saw the eyes of saber light up:  
\- Thank you. Sir?

\- I am Edwor Moorhart, one of the aldermen of Crestshade, Madam.

The three teenagers sat down. A woman, still young, but worn out by a hard life, came to serve them a clear soup, little more than water where some listless vegetables floated. The disappointed pout of Saber did not escape Moorhart:

\- The famine rule, Lady Artoria. Our children have an empty stomach and you will only eat better at the duke's table... who has never known hunger.

\- I understand that, Good Man Edwor.

\- You said you were a questing knight?

\- My sword has been taken from me and I am trying to recover it.

The alderman nodded:

\- I do not want to interfere in the quest of a noble lady, but may I ask why you are looking for Ned the Reikr?

\- Without going into detail, he has something I need to find my sword. Something he stole.  
\- This is very similar to him, Madam.

Edwor Moorhart plunged his hand into his purse and spread five gold coins on the table, a real riches (1) especially in this impoverished and starving country.

\- The city councilors promised a reward of twenty-seven Septims to anyone who would defeat Ned the Reikr and brought proof of this. Take these five gold coins as a down payment.

After their meal, the three young people went upstairs to their rooms. Artoria seemed angry:

\- This is my entire fault... I have not thought about the consequences of my wish!

\- Indeed, it is!

Saber turned to Rin, who offered her a sad smile:

\- Do not forget, however, that you were stuck in the Grail with Angra Mainyu. It is the deceitful spirit, the spirit of evil. I doubt that it is possible to remain in his presence without offering him a loophole that he can exploit. You would have ended up saying something he would have considered a wish and... It would probably have resulted in an even worse catastrophe. Luckily, Angra is stupid.  
Shiro scratched his head:

\- I don't know why you say that.

Rin looked at him for a moment with astonishment, the air of saying: "No, are you kidding me?" Only, Emiya continued to look at him filled with incomprehension. Tohsaka ended by sighing:

\- Because you're as stupid as he is, Baka! If Angra had reincarnated you together on the other side of Nirn, he could have worked in peace while you and Saber had perfect love. Instead, what did he do? While you were still in the Grail, he explained to you what his real intentions were... that sound like a teenage boy who's too proud of him... are you sure he's not your evil twins?

Artoria approved seriously:

\- It was incredibly stupid for Avenger to declare his intentions to his enemies. Out of impulsivity, he sacrificed the advantage of surprise.

Shiro had an embarrass smile. Once again he had not thought about all this, merely reacting to immediate circumstances.

* * *

It was the longest night, the one that would turn the child who had entered the priory into a knight. Under the frieze shirt that was Gonderic de Bel-Amant's only garment, he felt the wooden floor that was killing his knees. And, in my tired eyes, the swirling flame still dimly illuminated the symbols of the Nine Divines. The night was drawing to a close. Through the stained-glass windows, the first glimmers of daylight slid silently into the darkness of prayer and doubt that enveloped the squire.  
Hunger and tiredness held him. However, during his long night of vigil, the bread and the jug on the altar remained intact. The whole night, they had taunted him, inducing him into temptation after three days of fasting. But neither hunger, nor thirst, nor fatigue weighed on him as much as the uncertainty of the task to be performed.

Behind him, the sound of the lock rang. The light ran on the slabs, carried by the step of those who entered. Motionless, his heart pounding, Bel-Amant heard the men stop just behind my back.  
\- Stand up, my son.

\- Yes, my father.

Dressed in plate armor, Bel-Amant was led before the bishop, girded with the _Toril_ (the "crown" of a count) and carrying the heavy sword he held from the time of Saint Gregory. As in a dream, the young man knelt down to hear his father recite the oath of chivalry. Each time the bishop finished enunciating one of the duties, Bel-Amant replied by swearing never to commit the fault. Duty to the overlord, duty to the commoners, duty to widows and orphans… There are so many. But Bel-Amant simply replied: «I swear». And deep down, he prayed to Mara that She would keep him under Her protection and save him from ever having to act against my oaths. Already monsignor began the last part of the ceremony. He explained that if Gonderic missed one of the commandments on which he had sworn, his shield would be tied to the tail of a mad horse and dragged in the mud. Then his name should never be spoken again.

The heavy sword then struck Bel-Amant on each shoulder, echoing against the dark steel of the shoulder pads.

* * *

The banquet had been heavy with the most opulent victuals that the Count's table was able to offer to its guests. Gonderic de Bel-Amant had slept little that night, yet the excitement which was his exceeded that which he had still had as a child, of the expectation of the first buds or of the first snows.

* * *

Heavily loaded with the weight of his armor, helped by a page, Bel-Amant saddled up while a squire handed him his emblazoned shield.

\- You thought it through, asked his father.

\- Yes, my lord.

\- Then I can't keep you.

\- Yes, my lord.

\- Do you know the dangers of your quest?

\- Yes, my lord. In the Gallows Woods lies the blue-skinned Reikr. This evil wizard has one of the fragments of the Corvus Crystal. Whoever gathers the three fragments will be able to reconstruct the crystal and banish the evil that haunts the ancient Kingdom of Rivenspire.

Gonderic did not specify that he who restored the Crystal could raise the crown of Rivenspire and restore the ancient kingdom to his benefit.

The Count of Bel-Amant nodded gloomily:

\- Yes, you know. Your head knows but not your arm which is like a just forged sword and which may be broken at the first blow.

\- My spear is strong, my shield too, and I would rather see my heart break than the desolation continue to spread from the castle of the tyrant Atrum Galliasta. To ask me to give up is an affront to all the brave knights who died before me and are waiting for their souls to be rescued from these haunted woods.

The Count sighed:

\- Then go, my son.

Gonderic saluted with his horn, then with the spear before entering the drawbridge, followed by the squire Blaise on his own mount.

* * *

The first leagues covered from the castle of Bel-Amant allowed to discover a flamboyant autumn landscape. Wind and water mills were present on the shelves and streams. The road was joyfully crossing narrow bridges peacefully controlled by the count's militia, and in the villages the commoners were not too thin. The peasants who worked in the fields were strong.  
The first night passed without incident. The provisions for which the saddle horse was loaded and a few small pieces exchanged for a fowl had allowed an acceptable meal. Bel-Amant set up camp near the Gallows Woods preferring to enter in the light of day.

However, the knight was awakened in the middle of the night by the cries of Blaise, his squire...  
Taking his sword, he jumped out of his tent. Above them, in the night, a cauldron was flying in the sky! He boarded a witch in a black dress and pointed hat. Her skin was green and warty. Her gray, dirty, tangled hair floated behind her in the wind.

Laughing, the horrible shrew threw a flask that broke against the squire's chain mail. There was an explosion of green smoke and when it dissipated... Blaise (2) had disappeared. Entangled in his armor and clothing, a wolf was desperately struggling.

After turning into the sky, the witch was already coming back. This time, she grabbed a bag of fine fabric. Gonderic de Bel-Amant tried well to dodge the attack. Nevertheless, he was hit. Immediately, Gonderic found himself surrounded by a cloud of sand... Surprised, he yawned, his eyes suddenly clouded with sleep. Unable to resist, he released his sword...

While the sands of Morpheus carried him to the land of dreams, the knight of Bel-Amant had one last thought for his quest which ended tragically at the first bad encounter. However, what could an honest knight do against a flying witch and her infamous concoctions?

* * *

Shiro used to get up early. The day was not yet up when he left his room to go to the stable. Busy dressing the horses, he could hear Clotilde participating in the morning tasks. The young man offered to carry her bucket while she went to draw water from the well. Nevertheless, the little girl refused vigorously while blushing.

Once again, the amber-eyed blacksmith had broken an innocent girl's heart. However, it was not the most serious. As the reincarnated Japanese returned to the inn, he heard a piercing cry.  
Turning around, he saw the bucket overturned in a large puddle of water, but no Clotilde in sight. Except that a creature similar to an orc ran away, rolling a barrel in front of him. A pair of legs was waving out of the barrel!

Attracted by the screaming, Gondyn Kingston appears at the window of his inn:

\- Ned the Reikr!

Then, looking at the barrel, he turns pale!

\- He takes away my Clotilde! My poor little girl! I offer twenty Septims more to bring her back alive...  
Shiro Emiya, the "hero of justice", did not wait until he was offered gold to run after the Reikr.

\- Tell my friends! I am!

* * *

Shiro sank into the forest. The majestic oaks with branches covered with red leaves formed a real roof above his head. The damp trunks covered with spongy mosses were like walls on either side of the trail, leaving only their infinite uniformity and the ground covered with rotting leaves.

There were no signs of life apart from ravens circling in the sky. Their croaking was the only noise.  
A thick fog finished limiting vision. Proceeding cautiously, his two Chinese saber in hand, Shiro sneaking from trunk to trunk, on the alert.

On the way, he discovered the abandoned barrel but no trace of Clotilde. Emiya leaned to observe the ground, looking for traces. He was examining footprints moving south when his instinct pushed him to... counter.

Kanshou blocked a two-handed axe. The man who held her was dressed in rags; the long, gray beard was tangled with twigs, crazy eyes, hallucinated.

Shirou tried to reason with him. Only, the old man had obviously lost his mind. He spewed pieces of sentences without follow-up or logic. It must have been the "mad hermit" that the regulars of the "Horned Satyr" had spoken of the day before.

The young Japanese was a Magus, an archer and a talented swordsman. An old man should not have been a very difficult opponent to beat... However, it only takes a few weapons passes for Emiya to realize that he was wrong.

The mad hermit reminded a little of Berserker!

The insanity gave him incredible strength. Despite the reinforcement that Shiro had applied to his muscles, the blows of the old man forced him to retreat. In the middle of the way, they fought and sparks burst out when their weapons met. Elusive and quick, the Japanese attacked with one hand, blocked with the other, leaped out of the mortal circle formed by the axe-head...  
This was a superb demonstration of his particular style. However, his blows did not bear points! His opponent was a formidable fighter. His technique was sketchy, visibly learned by use, without a teacher. However, perhaps because Shiro was reluctant to kill, the mad hermit took the upper hand in this fight. His blows boiled down to great movements of his fearsome axe, from the left or from the right, when he did not climb it above his head in a vertical attack.

\- _Gandr_!

The black projectiles, haloed with red light struck the hermit. An ordinary man would have been defeated... but more was needed for the lunatic. With mad eyes, eructing and drooling, he stepped back a few steps while holding his hip. Rin, who had just attacked, bowed her arm as Saber rushed forward. The young woman had only an ordinary sword - Shiro having not had time to trace Caliburn- and her blade broke against the ruthless force of their opponent. Shaky, she trimmed her shield which received a deep notch.

Emiya shouted when he saw the madman rushing against her unarmed friend, but she showed no fear. When the old man struck... Saber threw himself aside, fanning his enemy's arm in the process. Then, in a graceful movement, she swirled the man over her, turning his ass over his head... before throwing him to the ground. Stunned by the shock, the hermit did not have time to sketch a movement before Artoria finished it by forcing the stump of her sword into his throat.

* * *

Now armed with a traced version of Caliburn, Artoria had taken the lead of their small troop. The first fight had been a shock to her. With the life of little Clotilde at stake, Saber did not have time to lecture Shiro for rushing forward without waiting for them. No doubt he too had thought of the child at first but... my God, would he never stop terrifying her by his impetuosity?!

After a half-hour walk, daylight broke through between the trees and a pale autumn sun appeared, repelling the thick fog. In front of the trio was a small clearing.

Hearing a howl of distress, Saber warned, turning in the direction of the cry. Seeing Clotilde drawn inside a hollow oak, she leaped forward. Unfortunately, although she reacted with her usual vivacity, the King of the Knights found no trace of the child except a piece of cloth torn from his dress. The kidnapper and his victim seemed to have vanished.

As Shiro began to search for footprints, without finding anything, Rin reminded them:

\- You forget that Ned is not just a goblin, he is a formidable sorcerer.

From a bag hidden under her skirt, Rin took out a small velvet purse. She drew from it three runes that she infused with _Prana_, focusing on as she remembers the face of Clotilde:

\- _Berkano_!

When she threw the three carved pebbles, they began to hop, sinking into the woods to the west.

* * *

After another half-hour walk, Rin, Saber and Shiro reached a clearing near the river flowing to Crestshade. The place was inhabited, a cottage built in a large tree.

As they approached it, a man straightened himself in a big rattle of chains:

\- Stay away from these cursed places. This is the home of an infamous witch who holds me in her power. By the immortal Aedras, flee while you can!

With her blade in hand, Saber approached, his eyes sweeping away:  
\- Who are you, sir?

\- I am the knight Gonderic de Bel-Amant.

He pointed to his neighbor - completely naked and shivering in cold:

\- This is Blaise, my squire.

Saber bowed her head.

\- I'm Knight Artoria Pendragon, this is my friend Rin Tohsaka, a Magus and...

Rin Tohsaka glanced at her neighbor and cut Saber off:

\- You can call him "Idiot" and he answers it, right, you moronic idiot?

\- Rin, groans the Japanese.

Artoria coughed in his fist.

\- This young man's name is Shiro Emiya. Don't listen to Rin, she is furious and can be quite stinging.  
A little surprised by the behaviour of the newcomers, the knight of Bel-Amant blinked several times:

\- Uh... you heard what I said? There's a witch.

\- I heard you, Sir. However, as a knight, I cannot allow her to get tough.

In two moves by Caliburn, Artoria blew up the chains that adorned the prisoners' wrists. By releasing her victims, she also angered the witch.

A large cauldron suddenly appeared through one of the windows. An old, decrepit lunatic used it as a flying vehicle. Stretching out a hand filled with excessively long nails, she spat out a magic formula that plunged the clearing into absolute darkness.

Rin, Artoria and Shiro couldn't see anything... worse, the spell wasn't just a defense. A greater and greater anguish embraced them. The two Magi reacted in the same way. Realizing that a magical energy was polluting their bodies, striving to lead them to fear and madness, they opened their _Magic Circuits_ to drive them away under a flood of _Prana_.

On the contrary, Artoria set out ahead to get out of the affected area.

As the King of Knights stepped into the autumn light, she realized that the spell formed an area of darkness ten meters apart. In the sky, the witch returned to them. The old woman held out her hand throwing a flame. Artoria did not flinch... for the projectile of fire died when it touched her. The magic was ineffective against her, her _Dragon Core_ protected her!

Shiro, out of the trap of darkness, exchanged his twin swords for a great black bow. He made appear an arrow and nock.

Normally, the Magus never missed its target. However, the wind began to swirl around the flying cauldron repelling the projectile.

\- Beware of her potions, cried Bel-Amant.

\- Potions?

\- Yes, it is thanks to them that this treacherous woman defeated me.

Rin joined them, supporting Blaise, who was pale after his stay in the spell of darkness. Seeing the evil flying cauldron returning to them, Rin murmured an incantation:

\- _Es ist groß. Es ist klein._

_Magic circuits_ came in life on her legs. With strengthened physical abilities, she ran like the wind, jumping sideways to avoid an attack before turning her arm out. A "gandr" volley made its way to the sky.  
Realizing that she was dealing with a heavy hand, the witch fled.

* * *

The witch's lair was burning, fueled by her evil beverage and black magic books. If this monster were to return, she would have to rebuild her entire laboratory before he could start harming again. While Shiro was using a flaming sword to spread the fire, Rin and Saber had spoken with the two men they had saved. The King of Knights summed up what she had just learned:

\- You want to bring the Corvus Crystal together? This is also our own goal.

She raised a hand, warning the question of Bel-Amant:

\- We have no claim to the throne of Rivenspire. We just want access to the tomb of Corvus Direnni.  
Gonderic frowned at her:

\- Why?

\- My sword is guarded by this mage.

\- Your sword, Milady?

\- A long story... but I can prove myself; no one can handle it but me. If you wish to accompany us, I would not oppose it, Sir Knight. In any case, your quest can only succeed with our help.

From her bag, Saber took out the first fragment of the Cristal. Gonderic swallowed. He understood that he was before a galant knight who far exceeded his valor.

\- Lady Artoria, it would be a great honor for me to follow you. You have saved me from a terrible fate and I owe you a debt of gratitude.

The King of Britain made a careless gesture, as if her exploits were unimportant:

\- Think nothing about it, sir.

* * *

Rin and Blaise had gone to fetch the horses and weapons of Gonderic de Bel-Amant. The group of five people resumed its advance in the forest. Guided by the runes of the Magus, they reached a bridge at the beginning of the afternoon.

The place couldn't be more sinister.

The smell of decomposition permeated the atmosphere. Cautiously, the knight of Bel-Amant checked the attachment of his sword and let his spear fall back into the attack position. His companions had stopped speaking. On his own horse, Blaise was even tenser than the nobleman he served. Shiro had invoked weapons for him and Saber. Rin searched the bushes with her eyes, fearing an ambush.  
At the end of the bend, the path stopped on a bridge just wide enough to let a horse pass. Along the banks of the muddy and stinking river that it crossed, sickly trees were languishing under the weight of the hanged. The ravens were replenished with corpses, the oldest of which were nothing but heaps of bones piled up in the midst of armor and rusty weapons.

At the entrance of the pontoon, between two heaps of yellowed skulls, a magnificent knight in shining armor stood guard. Its plastron, its helmet and the least of its plates reflected the sun like a mirror. His steed had the hair of a whiteness of snow as its coat and the plume of its rider. The shield of the knight had the same polish and showed no emblem. The gonfalon attached to his lance was also white, without any drawing.

In any landscape, he would have seemed out of place. In this sinister one, he seemed completely… unreal.  
Bel-Amant expected the knight-mirror to charge them, but he made no aggressive gestures.  
Artoria then spoke:

\- Knight of Bel-Amant, the bridge keeper has no aggressive intention. I have an excellent instinct for this kind of thing. Why don't you try to talk?

After a moment of hesitation, Gonderic nodded. Turning to the strange mirror-knight, he raised his hand in a greeting:

\- Sir Knight, how much is the toll?

\- The bridge of truth demands only the truth.

Shiro jumped, turning to Gonderic, then to the mirror-knight. The two men had exactly the same voice. But Bel-Amant didn't realize it. He watched the dead knights reduced to skeleton in rusty armor that flanked the bridge of truth:

\- Why … did they die?

\- They killed themselves.

\- What do you mean?

\- They had brought with them what should kill them: lust, the taste of luxury, cowardice, violence…  
Shiro stepped forward, showing the hangmen:

\- Do they too?

With difficulty, the knight-mirror bowed forward:

\- Braggarts, bandits, thieves, rapists… They killed themselves.

Gonderic resumed the speech, without noticing the air of deep reflection of Tohsaka:

\- Could you name yourself, sir?

\- You know my name.

-I have to go to the other side.

\- Pass. The Corvus Crystal fragment you're looking for is on the other side.

The knight-mirror then turned to Saber:

\- King of Knights, I offer you the friendly greeting of Le Fey and congratulate you on winning this event.  
\- I did nothing, the latter replied. "The credit goes to Gonderic de Bel-Amant".

Gonderic was increasingly surprised by the turn of events. Artoria was not. In her first life, in the legendary Brittany, Galaad, Perceval and Bohort had won a similar event. Many other Knights of the Round Table had failed... including the most prestigious.

\- Who are you, finally asked the Knight of Bel-Amant.

Without answering, the strange knight removed his helmet. The amazement left Gonderic speechless. He saw himself as in a mirror. The man had his face. "They killed themselves." "They brought with them what was to kill them." Of course!

\- I understand, I don't want to fight myself.

\- It is wise; to fight against oneself can only lose.

Slowly, Bel-Amant's double cleared the bridge to allow him to pass.

He was dazzled when his horse put his hooves on the old stones. As the travelers touched the other shore, Gonderic turned around. Not a trace of the Mirror Knight. The trees and the river had regained all their health, more hanged and robins were now singing where the ravens had been.  
However, the knight's companions were even more surprised by the changes that had taken place at his home. Her armor had become so polished that she looked like a mirror and her once-gray horse had become a dazzling white.

Rin agreed, understanding the meaning of the ordeal imposed on them:

\- By refusing to fight his own ugliness, Gonderic domesticated it.

Shiro shook his head, understanding nothing.

\- But who was this strange knight?

\- A _Fatys_, a fairy knight, replied Artoria. "They sometimes test mortals".

Saber shook her head. Lancelot, "the best of knights" had failed a similar test. Gonderic de Bel-Amant was probably promised a great destiny. She sighed, haunted by the memory of a black knight devoured by his own anger... and a burning underground parking lot...

* * *

The night had fallen for several hours when Rin's runes stopped in front of a well dug in the clay. Around the old masonry, turned six wolves that surrounded Ned the Reikr. The sorcerer was hiding behind the little Clotilde bounded and terrified.

Artoria Pendragon stepped forward, pointing Caliburn at the goblinoid:

\- Ned, I beg you to let this child go.

The Reikr did not even answer content to pull out a long knife from under his fur clothes and bring it closer to the little girl's throat.

Saber glanced at Shiro, who nodded, and then at Rin who approved. Then she smiled:

\- **Starlight (Convergence)!**

The King of Knights raised Caliburn to heaven. Loaded with _mana_ the sword began to radiate a golden light... which exploded in a violent flash. All the people were stunned and dazzled unless, of course, Shiro and Rin. They knew Saber well enough to understand her plan.

The redhead Magus had leaped forward with his reinforced leg, crossing the ranks of the wolves that were frantically rolling on the ground. He snatched Clotilde from his whimpering captor and walked away.

It was the turn of Tohsaka:

\- _Fiexering Eile salve_!

Ruthless, Rin did not give their enemies a chance. A rain of "Grandr shots" fell on them. It was over in an instant.

* * *

They then explored the well. The place served as a den for Ned. A swiveling slab at mid-height allowed access to a cave. The Reikr had accumulated all the loot stolen from the inhabitants of the region. There was a lot of old furniture and useless objects, even food.

Recovering from her emotions, Clotilde pointed them to a corner where she had seen the sorcerer dig. His real treasure included a magic chainmail, potions, gemstones, some gold coins and a real fortune in silver ones.

But above all, they found the second fragment of the Crystal of Corvus. It fit perfectly with the shard that Merlin had given Shiro.

They only had one piece left to find... the best kept.

* * *

(1) Most video games use the gold coins (like the "septim" that we see in the Elder Scrolls series) as if we found them on the ground or in the purse of a roughneck! Five gold coins is the price of a plough horse! For the ordinary peasant, it is the equivalent of a life's savings.

(2) The French name "Blaise" comes from Breton "Bleizh" which means... wolf! The transformation may not be totally risky. This kind of "coincidence" is a common place in Arthurian stories.


	18. Chapter 18 The Sword of Liberation

**The Sword of Liberation**

* * *

They had been walking all day, making a wide detour to avoid having to go back through the Gallows. Their small troupe progressed on foot, except for Blaise and the knight of Bel-Amant, the latter holding before him the little Clotilde.

The little girl seemed well recovered from her abduction by Ned. She spoke constantly, exhausting Gonderic of Bel-Amant under the flood of her questions. She wanted to know everything about the knights... and about Shiro.

Once again, the hero with the amber eyes had seduced an innocent woman... The worst was that the Japanese reincarnated had not done it on purpose! Rin Tohsaka, who looked alternately at the idiot in question and the 12-year-old girl, sighed as she looked up.

Artoria, who walked beside her, coughed in his fist to mask her laughter:

\- No need to worry, she is far too young to be a rival.

\- Still happy that...

Rin stopped and blushed violently, realizing that she had just admitted to being in love with Shiro. Furious against herself and against Saber, the Magus forced herself to speak in a low voice, looking anxiously at the teenager with red hair. Fortunately, he opened the way and the two girls were in the tail of the procession, following Blaise's horse.

\- Saber, I... I am absolutely not in love with Shiro! Get this ridiculous idea out of your head... how could a genius like me fall in love with this idiot?

\- He is brave, replied Artoria.

\- That is true!

\- Cute.

-... as true.

\- Kind.

-... yes.

\- Always willing to risk his life to help others.

-... where... where are you going with this, Saber?

\- How long have you known him?

Rin, who always blushed, turned her head, embarrassed. She didn't answer, but her memories were from another life... she must have been thirteen... she was looking at a red-haired boy who was practicing pole vault one night long after school ended. Rin had looked at him, at first mocking and then... admiring. Even at that age, when Shiro set a goal, nothing distracted him.

He was the embodiment of determination. As inflexible as the swords he drew. Except it was made of flesh, no steel...

Artoria looked at her reaction and nodded seriously, the tone of her voice changed. She was no longer teasing or amused, but serious:

\- You can refuse to admit it in front of someone else. Only, you must not lie to yourself, Rin.

The Magus still refused to look at Saber, but the knight saw her friend's shoulders collapse:

\- When he cuts himself, when he bleeds... I'm the one in pain!" Rin had a little laugh of derision." And you know how difficult it is to prevent this stupid heroic idiot from sacrificing his life to save complete strangers."

Saber nodded, and then took her friend's face in her hands, hardly surprised to discover that her cheeks were wet with tears. Artoria forced Rin to face her:

\- You are not alone.

Artoria lured her friend and... put her lips on hers. When the knight released her, Rin gave Artoria a capsized look... intoxicated... it had not been movies kiss:

\- That... but... I...

\- I was raised as a man. To be a king, a knight, a warlord... the kind of powerful man who attracts women. And then they saw me as a pretty boy... eternally adolescent and effeminate... but a handsome boy. I had many proposals. I learned to recognize the look that women in love gave me. Especially to avoid being alone with one of them.

Despite the tears on her cheeks, Rin giggle imagining Saber hiding in an empty room of her castle to escape a horde of admirers stalking her all over Camelot. No one could imagine the hardships of the legendary King Arthur.

\- Trust me, Rin, I learned the cost of hiding my feelings. On Camlann's Red Hill, I cried, cried and cried. Cried over all the dead I could have avoided by opening my heart. I destroyed everything I built because I didn't tell the people around me that I loved them... don't make my mistakes again.

\- All... all three?

Tohsaka coughed and replied more clearly:

\- Do you think we can do something together, you, me and Shiro?

Artoria nodded:

\- What are your fears? That society will not accept such a relationship? I spent a lifetime trying to be the "ideal king," meeting the expectations of others and being what they wanted me to be. The result is not worth it.

\- And Shiro will accept it?

A little red appeared on Saber's cheeks, in memory of a certain night in a ruined house in the middle of the Einzbern forest:

\- He didn't fight too hard last time...

* * *

Shiro walking at the head of the column had a sudden thrill. His fighting instinct warned him that danger was threatening him. He turned around and found only Saber and Rin looking at him, whispering.  
The reincarnated Japanese scratched his cheek... did he imagine things?

* * *

Their return to Crestshade had been greeted by transports of joy. For years, the population of Verandia suffered on all sides. Between the Black Knights of Duke Atrum Galliasta who oppressed the poor people and the monsters that multiplied in the country, they felt completely abandoned.  
Gondyn Kingston and his wife had cried with joy when they saw their daughter alive. Ned the Reikr had kidnapped the children for years and no one had ever seen them again. Clotilde was the first to be saved. As for Alderman Edwor Moorhart, he paid them the promised sum when Rin placed before him the severed head of the monster that had terrorized them for so long.

In fact, between the parents of Clotilde and the municipality, Artoria, Rin and Shiro received thirty-five Septims... which Saber wanted to refuse. What led to a short argument with Rin Tohsaka... the stinginess of this one was legendary. Fortunately, Edwor Moorhart and Gondyn Kingston urged Artoria Pendragon not to delay any reward. When they affirmed that it was a debt of honor and that to continue to refuse it would be insulting to them, Saber gave up... to Rin's greatest joy.  
Meanwhile, the people of Crestshade decided to celebrate their new heroes, including Gonderic and Blaise. While Clotilde Moorhart recounted with children's words the final battle against the sorcerer, tables were set up and the music was heard.

* * *

Gondyn Kingston approached Artoria Pendragon.

In fact, he was quite intimidated. The young woman did not resemble his idea of a great knight. She looked like a gracious young teenage girl, an incredible beauty. Her blond hairs, as made of pure gold threads, were wisely gathered in a braid coiled on the back of the skull. The strands left free framed a thin oval face, with the exception of a rebellious ahoge.

However, her emerald-like eyes had a maturity that was unthinkable to encounter in a girl of her age. As for her manners and her maintenance, they demonstrated a great habit of command.  
The pictorial description of the sword of light that Artoria Pendragon had used to blind Ned was even more astounding. Gondyn had at first thought that this detail had been invented or exaggerated; nevertheless the knight of Bel-Amant had disabused him.

He placed a pint of beer in front of Saber, who thanked him with a slight nod of her head... as someone who was perfectly aware of his rank. However, the alderman did not feel insulted. He did not detect any contempt in her behavior.

From her eyes, she followed Shiro Emiya dancing with Clotilde... which he actually carried with an arm. The little girl laughed wildly, maybe really happy for the first time in her life.

\- Lady Pendragon, may I sit next to you?

\- As you please.

Ceasing to follow the evolution of the redhead, Saber turned to him:

\- What do you want to talk to me about?

Gondyn Kingston laughed nervously at feeling so quickly uncovered. Partly against his owns will, he took the low tone of a conspirator:

\- You are seeking to reunite the Corvus Crystal.

It was not a question and Saber squished his eyes into a slit, suddenly very attentive:

\- It would seem to be pointless to deny it.

\- The third shard is in the castle of Doomrag, in the possession of the duke. The places are severely guarded. The tyrant has assembled an important army; you will never be able to cross the ranks of his troops. But... there may be a way.

\- You have my full attention, Alderman Kingston.

\- We... have been preparing for several months to rise up against the tyrant Atrum Galliasta.  
\- How many men do you have? Are they well armed, trained in combat?

The alderman blinked, surprised by the precision of the questions and tried to answer them as best he could. The inhabitants of Crestshade and the surrounding countryside had secretly raised an "army" of 1,200 men. Alas, apart from about thirty local knights, they were mainly hunters equipped with bows, a peasants' uprising with agrarian tools (scythes, forks, plagues) as weapons and city guards more capable of fighting against thieves than against soldiers.

Artoria nodded, the mine darkened.

Gondyn Kingston realized this:

\- There is another movement that wants to overthrow Duke Atrum. It is the Barons Alliance. We have good contacts... for the moment.

Gondyn grimaced, after all the local nobles were hardly more reliable than Atrum Galliasta himself. Only the impoverishment of their own estates because of incessant wars led them to depose the tyrant. They made fun of the suffering of the people.

Artoria nodded her head seriously, seeming to understand the ulterior motives of the alderman:

\- Their strengths? What are their numbers? Do they have trained soldiers?  
\- Yes, Lady Artoria. You can judge it yourself; they have to come to town tomorrow. Their troops are already mobilized and hidden in the surrounding countryside.

\- Then why didn't you attack Duke Atrum?

The alderman scratched his scalp, very embarrassed.

\- The Barons Alliance only agreed to bring down the tyrant. These lords cannot agree on a battle plan or a single leader. On our side, we are united... except that we hear nothing of the art of war.

\- I see. You want me to take command of your army.

\- Yes...

Saber only thinks for a few moments:

\- I accept. However, you must understand that you are entrusting me with a very difficult task.

She was about to add something when Shiro approached to take her by the hand:

\- Come and dance!

Artoria Pendragon became confused:

\- I... I didn't want to.

Without listening to her protests, the young redhead tore her from her stool, taking her to participate in the farandole of the inhabitants.

* * *

In the end, Shiro practically had pull Saber at arm's length. She had not really tried to resist but... the young woman was content to follow and her face showed a sad and resigned expression.

As soon as the dance was over, Artoria let go of his hand and returned to sit down. The amber-eyed hero followed her.

\- Do you hate dancing so much?

Artoria startled and gave him a troubled look. She smiled... or rather tried to smile, the result looked like a dark grimace:

\- This brings back bad memories.

Shiro acquiesced. When he was his Master, the young man had access to her memory. He had seen the immense throne room of Camelot and the lords of the kingdom dancing before their king. And she on the big chair, alone in the midst of laughter. Loneliness, that word was the simplest summary of King Arthur's reign. As referee of the factions arguing over the kingdom, Artoria could not associate with any of her vassals on pain of breaking the delicate balance they formed around her. This had finally isolated her from everyone.

\- I understand, he replied softly.

Saber glanced at him and shook her head:

\- I don't think so. You know who Hueil was?

The young redheaded man thought for a moment, but it didn't mean anything to him. That said, he did not know the time of his former Servant so well.

\- No.

\- He is one of my youth companions, even before I snatched Caliburn from the Selection Stone. He came from the region you call Scotland. In my time this country was being invaded by the Scots, a people of Ireland who will eventually give their name to the region. My adoptive father, Ector, had welcomed a Pict lord who had been exiled by the Scots. His son, Hueil, was one of my first companions. Uther had just died and the Britons were fighting with each other for his crown as much as they were against the Saxons. I was already participating in the struggles and I was injured in one of my first battles. But... I was still very young... I was jealous of girls my age who went dancing. Dressed as a woman, I snuck into a nearby village on a holiday. Except that Hueil was there too... he recognized me and could not help laughing at me because I limped: "the dance would be beautiful if it were not the thigh".

Artoria stopped, looking at the bonfire around which the villagers revolved. Shiro hesitated then asked the obvious question:

\- What happened next?

\- I... I ran away. And I told Ector everything. His anger was terrible... not really against me, rather against bad luck. He started by banish Hueil so that he could not tell our allied that he had discovered that I was a woman. However, afterwards, Ector began to think that this would not be enough. He rallied all our allies... Hueil did the same to defend himself and we met... at the Battle of Kellydon Forest.  
Artoria passed one hand on her face and stopped to look at her shaking fingers:

\- It was a tough battle. Victorious, I chased Hueil on the run and managed to capture him. After all the bloodshed, I had no choice. I ordered that it be beheaded immediately (1). The monk Gildas, the son of Hueil, forced me to pay heavy repairs and then did not cease to blaming me, accusing me of wanting to tyrannize all Britain. There were many who believed his sermons and opposed me.

Saber had a pale smile:

\- Once in my whole life, I wanted to be a girl like everyone else and have fun. Only once... How much I paid!

Short of words to answer, Shiro held the love of his life in his arms.

* * *

The next day the meeting with the rebel barons took place. It was a group of about ten feudal lords smelling of arrogance. The continual wars that shook the Rivenspire region gave them the opportunity to shine on the battlefields. In addition, they gathered around them an army made up of knights of their houses, feudal guards... and the same mixture of hunters and peasants that made up the bulk of the forces raised by the municipality of Crestshade. In all, the Barons' Alliance had a thousand men. Except it was not an army. But the Alliance had no leader or common command, and the lords arrived at Crestshade arguing over stupid primal squabbles.

Artoria Pendragon welcomed them on horseback and in armor, Caliburn on the belt. The king of Brittany appeared to them surrounded by the knights of the city, and a hundred armed militiamen.  
Her beauty, her royal air, the magnificent sword and the ordinance of the troops around her left them speechless. It was the effect of her "Charisma" competence. It was not a supernatural characteristic but only years of commanding troops and negotiating treaties. Saber knew perfectly how to impress allies and opponents.

Artoria did not wait for the barons to recover from their initial shock to invite them to the Aldermen's Chamber where she immediately began to organize the attack against Atrum Galliasta. The precise questions she put to the lords gave her an idea of the capabilities of the army of the rebels. She also inquired about the tyrant's army.

And things weren't in their favor.

They had gathered two thousand two hundred men, a good half of whom belonged to the category of "levees". A levy was a troop of non-combatants conscripted to participate in a battle. Without experience of war, often poorly armed, their morale remained weak. The militiamen of Crestshade were inhabitants of the city who had received a minimum of training. In fact, only knights and feudal guards used to carry arms.

Opposite, the army of Duke Atrum had at least two thousand men. A good part consisted of levees, militiamen... and bandits. The rest was formed by the fearsome Black Knights. Better fighters, more numerous and much better equipped, they outranked in every way their equivalents in the rebel troops.

If only the Count of Bel-Amant had joined the uprising! His army had at least a thousand men, including many professionals. Perhaps because he was mischief to the barons - who were jealous of him- Gonderic's father had kept his distance from the Alliance. In any case, he constituted a fourth faction in Verandia and the only one not involved in the revolt.

While the King of the Knights was thinking, the barons had recovered a little from their surprise. One of them, stood up:

\- Lady Artoria, why do you speak as if you were the designated leader of the alliance gathered to bring down the tyrant?

In fact, Saber had been waiting for this intervention for some time. She straightened herself to stare her opponent right in the eye:

\- Sir Jehan de Lyoret, the city of Crestshade has given me the honor of offering me the command of its forces. This army outnumbers the armed forces of the various barons. I am competent in the art of war. As a stranger to this country, I wish that I continue on my way and therefore am not your rival. Therefore, it seems to me to be the most suitable to lead.

The Baron de Lyoret looked away. The eyes of this knight seemed to read to his soul. He felt... dirty. Impressed, he no longer dared to retaliate.

However, his neighbor, a disfigured colossus wearing an armor of plates decorated with spikes, began to growl:

\- We do not need a little girl to give us orders!

Artoria turned to the military boor:

\- Sir Estienne de Vignonne, do you question my command?

He burst out laughing:

\- God-blood! For sure! I'm not a baby who still has wet ears.

\- So you think you're a better fighter than I am?

Baron de Vignonne spitting on the ground in a contemptuous manner:

\- You want me to prove it to you, girl?

The King of the Knights rose and opened the door that led to the court.

\- After you, my lord.

* * *

Gathered around the two combatants, the barons held their breath. Estienne de Vignonne was an atrabilary lout whom her peers feared. However, he was also the best fighter among them. A good half feared that he would lead them. Although he was a man of war, the only tactic he knew was to go straight for it... but many, often the same, feared his defeat just as much.

Baron de Vignonne stood on the edge of the spectator circle. He raised an ebony Zweihänder that covered itself with flames, a magic weapon of some renown called "La Colérique".  
Facing the colossus in dark armor, the girl was wearing ordinary plate armor. However her sword - which she called Caliburn- was to be a weapon of great renown in view of its guard and its golden pommel, like the inlays of blue enamel.

Contemplating her adversary without fear, she waved the blade towards the sky. It was illuminated with a light similar to the radiance of the sun:

\- Behold the **Golden Sword of the Victorious**!

Although Vignonne's face was invisible behind his helmet, he seemed hesitant before throwing himself forward. In spite of the savagery of the assault, the baron knew showed subtlety. He cracked vertically but twisted his blade in a vicious way. However, much more was needed to lose Artoria. Her instinct foresaw it. There was a shower of sparks when the two blades met.

Vignonne grew, confident in his strength. Rather than struggle - although her Dragon Core allowed her to do it- Artoria strongly preferred to break, jumping aside with the grace of a cat. Carried away by his impetus, the baron took a few steps in stumbled and turned to attack again, enraged by his first failure.

Keeping his sword closer to him, Vigonne changed the "game", using blows requiring less scope. Apparently, he was now suspicious, looking to gauge his opponent.

There was a series of rapid exchanges which the eye found difficult to follow. The sparks burst out in every direction and when the two combatants broke, the barons were surprised to see that none were injured. However... Vignonne blew like a blacksmith, his chest rising rapidly. While in front of him, Artoria Pendragon's forehead did not show a drop of sweat.

Once again Vignonne rushed forward and Saber remained passive.

The two blades collided with violence, flames and golden brilliance fighting against each other. Estienne de Vigonne used all his brute strength to break the guard. And Artoria folded aside while twisting Caliburn to deflect the Zweihänder. As the opponent stumbled in front of the King of Knights, her foot struck him in the stomach.

The colossus wavered, holding his stomach. Despite the armor, the man had had his lungs emptied by the shock and barely held on his legs. As Artoria did not take advantage of his weakness, having simply returned to caution, with her face concentrated, Vignonne returned to her little step, very cautious.  
This time, he was determined to use all his skills of fencing this... "little girl" could no longer be underestimated. Apparently, he struck again like a bully. It was only a feint called _false point_ or _short point_, a technique that Vignonne had learned from an imperial master of arms. His Zweihänder spun horizontally, targeting the head. The defender then had to raise his blade to guard... and the attacker changed the stroke of the blade to hit the throat. It was a style that required a quick change in the position of the hands on the Zweihänder but it was almost unstoppable.

Again, Artoria contorted herself to the side and deflected the blade with a single backhand. Her fighting instinct had warned her of the attack, allowing her to counter.

Vignonne's mouth fell for a few moments and Saber leapt towards him. It was so fast that he did not have time to make a gesture. But she simply struck his blade with enough force to pull it from his hands.  
Happy, the young woman retreated:

\- Shall I continue the fencing lesson or have you had enough, my lord?

Furious, humiliated, the baron threw himself on his weapon. Then, he raised the sword over his head to shoot it down with all his strength.

Artoria vanished to the side and La Colérique sank deep into the paving, projecting pieces of stone from a distance. Before Vignonne could lift the blade, Saber immobilized it under hit foot. This technique called _Coup du paysan_ was one of her favorites when it came to confronting bullies. She had used it against Diarmuid ua Duibhne during the Fourth Grail War(2), but the latter had easily countered it.

Swearing, insulting the Aedras and the Daedra, the immense warrior tried to tear La Colérique from the ground, but the weapon did not move. Saber simply laid Caliburn on her enemy's throat:

\- In a real fight, I would have blown your head off your shoulders, Mr de Vignonne.

\- Who... who are you?

\- Knight Artoria Pendragon, of the Order of the Rose, servant of King Eadwyre of Menevia. I have fought orcs, ogres, lichs, and wyvern. The sword in my hands is Caliburn, the Golden Sword of the Victorious. Do you recognize me as _Dux Bellorum_ (3)?

Renouncing to recover his weapon, the colossus stood up:

\- I have lost, honour compels me to accept and support you, Knight...

Saber was about to speak again, but she saw Gonderic de Bel-Amant breaking the crowd of barons. The knight was at the end of his breath:

\- Lady Artoria, my father is here... with the remains of his army. The... tyrant attacked my domain and took the count's castle.

* * *

Count Thibaut de Bel-Amant had a grey face. He looked without seeing the many wounded and terrified children who had taken refuge in the temple of Mara. He contemplated his memories, the burning villages ravaged by the robbers in the service of the tyrant Atrum Galliasta. The most prosperous estate of the Duchy of Verandia had been ravaged by the torches, the adults killed for the taste of killing, the children kidnapped for some evil purpose, the women... it was better not to think about the fate of the women.

\- I did what I could to delay the enemy but there were too many of them and the Black Knights... each of them is worth two of my men! In the end, I had no choice but to defend my castle. They built siege machines like siege-towers and rams while they clubbed the ramparts with mangonels and trebuchets. They even sent decomposed corpses to trigger epidemics.

The count shook his head, overwhelmed by the disasters he had just experienced:  
\- I left behind volunteers, wounded and sick... then I ran away with everyone I could save.  
Artoria Pendragon and Shiro listened looking gloom, Rin reflected. It was she who said:

\- In retrospect, it was obvious that Atrum Galliasta could not stand idly by the revolt. He reacted very well, in fact, attacking the strongest of his enemies before he joined the rebellion.

Thibaut de Bel-Amant grimaced:

\- My own opinion, young Magus. Even though my escape saved the poor innocent who had taken refuge in my castle, I doubt the Black Knights would release their prey. They must be after me and will be here any minute.

\- In this case, it is an opportunity to end them.

All turned to Artoria, who had just spoken, with a definite expression:

\- Don't worry, I have a plan.

* * *

The Black Knights arrived the next day. According to the battle plan prepared by Saber, some peasants indicated to the enemy scouts that the remnants of the army of the count of Bel-Amant had sheltered in the Gallows' Woods.

They did not pay attention to the bird that hovered above them, except that it was a familiar created by Rin. Its unique eye recorded everything. Through one of her spiritual gems, the Magus projected the images received to her friends.

It was an undeniable advantage to be able to spy so easily on the enemy army and Artoria took full advantage of it.

She was particularly interested in the Black Knights. Their armor tints of this color revealed nothing of their appearance. They rode great steeds, clad in red and gold; and are armed with a mace and a kite shield. Their helmet had no plume.

The other combatants consisted of a mixture of statutory archers, certainly hardly motivated, and masked-faced brigands, carrying broad swords and small circular shields.

The Oliphant started ringing in the shade of the woods. Artoria got into the saddle and took a long spear which was handed to her by a squire.

\- Get on with it!

On two ranks, militiamen and peasants, hunters behind, the army of Crestshade set out. On wings the small cavalry were gathered.

* * *

Artoria's plan was simple. It was simply a matter of attracting the Black Knights into the forest to confront the remnants of the army of the Count of Bel-Amant.

Except that taking advantage of the canopy offered by the trees, the troops of Crestshade and the Alliance of Barons had positioned themselves on both wings and were preparing to close the trap.

When Artoria arrived close enough to the battlefield to find out what was going on, she was pleased to see that her plan was going smoothly. The army of the Count of Bel-Amant and that of the Duke of Verandia were facing each over under the shades.

Of course, the forests and red foliage of the autumn partly obscured the fighters, but the two armies were not yet in contact, simply exchanging arrows.

As her army advanced, Saber discerned movements among the groves. Troops were changing positions. They had just been discovered and the enemy leader redirected part of his troops to face the newcomers. Instead of staying in a defensive posture, he even sent these troops forward. At the sound of the trumpets and the determined march of the infantry, it was visible that they were going to charge.

\- Stop!

Her order was echoed from close to close and the army stopped. Arrows began to fall among the foot soldiers of the front line. Some fell, wounded or killed. Already, Shiro - at the head of the archers- launched the counter-attack. The features of their own bowmen focused on the troops advancing towards them and there too soldiers fell.

However, like the thunder roll, the Black Knights moved beyond the infantry to charge. The shock was very violent, and the casualties immediately heavy. Atrum Galliasta's elite army certainly deserved its reputation.

Just in front of Saber, a unit of these ferocious knights - if one could call so torturers without honor- threatened to wrap the left wing of his infantry. The horsemen smashed the heads with a massive blow, bringing down the militiamen so that their mounts could trample them.

\- With me! In step!

At 50 meters, the knights lowered their spears.

\- Charge!

The spears held horizontally through the breasts of the Black Knights. The shock was enough to break the enemy's ranks, but Artoria drew Caliburn. The sword ignited with a golden glow. Rushing into contact, she broke the helmets and shields, causing death around her.

The Black Knights broke, defeated, terrified.

However, enemy infantry were now in contact. Bandits and Black Knights fighting on foot attacked the ranks of her army. Saber waved her sword:

\- Reform the line.

Beckoning her knights to follow her, the former king of Britain stood on the side of the enemy and charged them.

* * *

\- _Trace On_.

Shiro materialized an ebony arrow and notch it on the big black bow he used. Sent with unthinkable force, the arrow crossed a large part of the battlefield before piercing a great welder in ornate armor who commanded a group of officers on the rear of the enemy formation.

\- _Trace On_.

He next stroke struck a banner bearer who collapsed, dropping the banner struck by the sea serpent of Atrum Gallastra.

Shiro wasn't content with killing at every shot; he was always targeting the enemy lords, the flag-bearers and all the other opposing champions.

Next to him was Rin. Concentrated, she followed the confrontation thanks to her familiar. Suddenly, she startled and called her neighbor:

\- Shiro, some Black Knights are coming at us.

In fact, they were the enemy riders repelled by Artoria. When they were routed, they had withdrawn before resuming their calm. After observing the battle, they found a place they thought was vulnerable to attack... the archers who surrounded the two reincarnated Japanese.  
Allowing his bow to dissolve into bluish particles, the young redhead traced Kanshou and Bakuya before placing himself outside the archery ranks.

The Black Knights appeared from the woods, about thirty men in heavy armor, carrying masses and shields adorned with blazons. Their steed wore steel headplates and fabric bards.

Shiro focused on:

\- _I'm the bone of my sword._

Around him, the air burned with energy still poorly controlled. Electric arcs were flashing, drawing shapes... that materialized: a dozen swords. They made their way to the enemy horsemen and crossed their ranks in a great splash of blood, the neighing of the horses and the bodies thrown to the ground...

About ten knights had passed the carnage and continued to make their way. But  
Rin Tohsaka pulled two runes out of her pocket and threw them on the floor:

\- _Tiwaz... Hayalaz_ !

The first rune meant "uncontrolled force" and the second "force of nature". The wind began to swirl around several knights and snatched them from the ground to release them in altitude... horses included.  
The carnage that had just fallen on their already thinned ranks would have been enough to make them doubt having really hit in the right place. The worst was yet to come... the sound of a horn rang on their right revealing knights who were charging, led by Artoria Pendragon.

The King of the Knights threw herself into the fray like a dragon. Caliburn struck heads from all sides and cut enemies in half. Within moments, it was a rout.

* * *

Artoria Pendragon pursued the fleeing enemies, however, seeing an enemy troop on their right, she cried:  
\- With me !

The knights' steeds did not leave her while she threw herself at the robbers. They were at least three times more numerous than the valiant knights who attacked them, yet the fight was decided in a few minutes.  
No enemy could approach Saber and survive. Her gold-clad blade shattered the dull swords of her enemies, smashed their shields, killed and mutilated. Accustomed to looting terrified villagers, the bandits in turn discovered powerlessness. They fled in every direction and Saber pursued them, trampling and ruthlessly slaughtering the fugitives.

An enemy that survives is an enemy that will seek revenge.

A dead enemy feeds crows.

She was born in hard times and became much acclimatized to the incessant wars of High Rock.  
While her men were pushing in front of them, some bandits who had surrendered, Artoria looked at the battle around her, seeking where to intervene.

Nevertheless, everywhere the same vision welcomed her. The troops of Atrum Galliasta had broken their ranks and fled fiercely, pursued by the victors who converged on them on three sides.

Saber smiled.

The battle was victorious.

* * *

Shiro watched Saber come back to them. She was covered in blood. The hand holding Caliburn was red to the elbow, while scarlet projections marked her armor and face.

The young Japanese felt a pinch in his heart. He was still horrified to see her like this. Even though he knew it was someone else's blood, Shiro still found it as unnatural that such a beautiful girl had spent her life going from one battlefield to another.

\- You arrive on time; Rin wants to show you something.

Intrigued, Artoria jumped to the bottom of her horse and approached the Magus. The latter had removed the helmet of several Black Knights. The faces were those of brutes, the cheeks filled with beards, the low forehead. Humans, but as if they had turned back the path of evolution to regain the appearance of man-monkeys of the Stone Age.

\- You've seen people like this before, asked Rin.

\- Yes, during the siege of Wayrest. The barbarians who opened the drawbridge... they looked the same.  
The three youngs shivered together, realizing that they were once again facing a curse from Angra Mainyu.

* * *

(1) Strange as it may seem, I did not invent this story. It is a popular tale where Arthur disguised as a woman was recognized in a village party by Hueil. I just changed Artoria's motives a little (the Arthur this popular storytelling was just angry that he was mocked for dressing up as a woman). Hueil is a historical figure, it is the father of Saint Gildas (or Gildas the Wise, author of _De Exidio Britanniae_, one of the few texts of the time which reached us) and the fact that he was killed by Arthur is precisely attested by the _Vita Gildae _of Caradoc of Llancarfan. The battle of the Kellydon forest is mentioned in the _Historia Brittonum_, one of the oldest sources on Arthur since the text was probably written a hundred years after the deeds by Rhun son of King Urian of Rhegged... Ironically, Urian of Rhegged was integrated into the Arthurian cycle under the name of Urbain, where he is the father of Yvain, the lion knight.

(2) Second fight against the Launch of fate/Zero. Saber also uses it during the only fight against Berserker in Unilimited Blade Work.

(3) Chief of War.


	19. Chapter 19 The Castle of the Tyrant (1)

**The Castle of the Tyrant**

**(First part)**

* * *

High-Rock, the province of the Bretons did not bear this name without reason, it was purely descriptive. It was essentially a mountainous country. If you went from east to west, you would go through three major folds. Coming from Skyrim, the country of the Nords, one should first cross the Druadach Mountains populated by the ferocious Reachmen. Then the traveler should climb the country's largest chain, the Wrothgar Mountains, the home of the Orcs. Most of the geographical guides stopped there, forgetting the Peaks of Doomrag. It was true that they were neither the largest nor the highest chains in the country. The Peaks of Doomrag cut the Rivenspire region in half. They therefore played a strategic role, forming a natural barrier between the Duchy of Verandia and its neighbors, the Kingdom of Shornhelm and the Duchy of Boralis.

In the plain of Verandia, autumn continued and the trees looked like red-haired colors of this season. However, the Peaks of Doomrag did not enjoy such a mild climate. Everywhere it was just a white landscape. The legions of conifers that rose to assault the slopes were wrapped in a snow mantle that rose to the low clouds. The snowflakes fell continuously amidst the roar of the wind, which engulfed the valleys, bringing the temperatures ever lower and sculpting the streams with a lace of ice.

* * *

At first glance, the monster looked like a gorilla... if there were gorillas with white fur. Jumping on the spot, waving his huge arms or banging his chest, he indulged in a threatening pantomime, discovering a carnivorous dentition.

However, horny points protruded from her shoulders. In addition, the creature had a third eye in the middle of her forehead... an ice troll.

\- Shiro, remembers, the fat of the troll protects it from weapons and it regenerates. However, it is vulnerable to fire.

Artoria's voice was torn apart by the howling of the storm, but the Amber-eyed blacksmith nodded:  
\- _Trace On_!

The weapon that appeared in his hands was not a Noble Phantasm, at most it could have been called Mystical Code if it had been of earthly origin. However, it was a relatively recent addition to Shiro Emiya's collection. He had discovered this two-handed Nibenian sword in the arsenal of the Legion barracks at the Imperial City. It name was _Blue Fire Claymore_...

The color of a flame reflects its temperature. A blue flame like the one that gave its name to this sword was more than 1200°C.

Shiro rushed forward and the troll raised his two arms banging on one side, and then on the other in a pendulum swing. But his blows closed on the void. The young Japanese had leapt aside and... the claymore fell in a terrible blow, cutting the arm of the anthropophagical monster.

The humanoid howled and retreated, considering Shiro with his completely black eyes... Already, the blacksmith leapt. The blade plunged into the Troll's chest, even as Shiro swiveled sharply over a hip and kicked to release his weapon.

The snow troll collapsed on its knees, seriously injured... and unable to regenerate because the fire was burning around the wound. His opponent did not give him time to regroup. The blade described a perfect arc of a circle, sinking deep into the shoulder to stop only in the middle of the chest.  
\- Bravo Shiro!

Artoria smiles, legitimately proud of her pupil's progress, trolls were powerful monsters, almost impossible to kill weapons by hand because of their regenerative abilities and resistance to blows. However, there had not been combat but execution.

As Saber smiled at her boyfriend, Rin looked up. Despite the fur clothing that turned her into a kind of big mattress, she trembled with cold:

\- Congratulations... hurrah... another victory for the greaaaaaat warrior Shiro Emiya! However, if we stay here, we will all die. The storm is getting stronger and stronger. We have to find shelter before dark or we will not survive.

At her side, Gonderic de Bel-Amant bowed forward:

\- Putting irony aside, your friend is right, Lady Artoria.

With the help of Blaise, the knight's squire, Shiro had just returned to the saddle after letting his sword dissipate into bluish _prana_ butterflies. He strengthened his eyes, going through the snow squalls that devoured the landscape, transforming it into a moving picture.

\- There is light in this direction.

Painfully, the five young peoples set out again. The snow was now rising above the horses' anteriors and they were struggling to advance. However, the light of a hearth was piercing among the whirling winds that rattled their coats and hung snowflakes on their eyelashes.

* * *

They approached the side wall of the rocky canyon between two mountains. The rocks that formed the wall appeared to them only as dark shapes with faded outlines. Yet a light was rising among them... the flickering of a flame.

A fireplace surrounded by stones had been installed in a cave; an old man in a white robe maintained it. Without raising his eyes to the newcomers, he spoke to them:

\- Good evening traveler, you must have lost your way. There is nothing at the end of this road other than the castle of Doomcrag. Come in, come in, I have nothing to offer you but the warmth of my fire, but you will be much better than on the outside.

Descending from her steed, Saber bowed:

\- Thank you, noble old man. Your hospitality is more than assessed with this torm.

\- That's the least I can do.

As the young pulled their mounts to safety, the howling of a wolf rose in the night. Artoria drew closer to the fire. The old man had not stopped staring at the flames for a moment. His attitude was strange. The King of Knights felt no threat, nevertheless she had learned caution.

\- Tell me, noble old man, you look nothing like a natural of these mountains. Your dress seems to be that of a magician's order. What strange concourse of circumstances makes you find yourself spending the night in this cave?

\- That's a question I would be very happy to answer, my fair Damsel. My name doesn't matter, but I was until recently the tutor to Duke Dunoryan's children. However, I argued with his brother Atrum... an arrogant, cruel and detestable character... Fearing that vile snake would make me murder, I fled and wandered into the storm.

Saber felt her trouble increase. "Recently"? Duke Dunoryan had died ten years ago! Rumor had it that he was murdered along with his wife and three children. The designated culprit was none other than Atrum Galliasta, his brother... and reincarnation of Caster's original Master at the beginning of the Fifth Fuyuki Grail War.

Artoria cautiously agreed:

\- Sir, I think you did the right thing by fleeing the castle. Atrum Galliasta wouldn't be at a crime by. To tell you the truth, we are on this road to do justice, on behalf of all the victims of this sorry figure.

Without raising his eyes from the flames, the good old man nodded:

\- I wish you success. To help you, I will give you the contents of the cassette I saved during my flight. But for now, sleep, I'll stay up... no one will disturb you.

\- And yourself, are you not sleepy?

\- I could only sleep when Atrum Galliasta died. Every time I close my eyes, I dream of his Death Dogs. They appear in the cave and slit my throat with their icy fangs...

All around Artoria, the room began to turn and the young woman struggled to maintain consciousness. Her friends, taken by surprise, did not have time to mobilize their forces.

Magic!  
Understanding that the sleep that fell on her was nothing natural, Saber mobilized the power of her Dragon Core. **Mana Burst**. The flood of energy swept away the spell. She tried to draw her sword, but bowed her arm... instead of the old man there was only a skeleton wrapped in a ragged dress.

The others slept until sunrise, watched over by the supernatural brightness of the old man's camp fire. In the morning, the magic flames suddenly went out.

* * *

Shiro approached the skeleton and concentrated to use _Structural Analysis_. It was the first time he used this _Magecraft_ on a human body and... he swallowed his saliva... it was not very pleasant:  
\- He died a little more than ten years ago... killed by war dogs... undead hounds with black aura and burning eyes like embers.

Shiro bent over and took the key that the skeleton was hanging from his neck by a lace. A case with rusty hinges was located next to the body. The blacksmith played the lock without difficulty, discovering several labeled vials. There were potions of healing and other utilities. He entrusted everything to Rin, certainly the one who could benefit most from it.

Gonderic had fading a little:

\- We spent the whole night with a ghost.

\- No, Sir Gonderic, we spent the whole night under the protection of an unfortunate man who will finally know the sleep of death when his assassination is avenged.

Shiro's repartee caused the knight to flinch and blush with vague excuses. But the blacksmith did not care. Tracing a shovel and a pickaxe, he worked to dig a grave.

* * *

Doomcrag castle was an impregnable stronghold.

Strictly speaking, this castle was not very impressive. It was a square fortress with a tower at each corner, according to an old plan. Two of the belfries were even archaic square towers. As for the walls, they were not really thick.

However, he needed little more; nature had done more to fortify Doomcrag than the human hand. No army could cross the mountains, much less after the first snows. A troop that risked it should have gone through narrow passes where it would have been easy to bury it under avalanches.

After days of being harassed, the survivors would have found themselves at the end of an ancient glacial valley, on three sides, high cliffs impossible to climb. The only road through this triangular tear lead to the castle gates except... just before the door, a wide crevasse cut the path. It could only be crossed by a narrow bridge.

* * *

Saber opened the way shaking in her hand a traced version of Caliburn.

She became immobilized in the midst of a vague malaise. As she raised her hand for her companions to stop, her gaze passed through the landscape of severe beauty. Rock and snow... snow and rock... there was nothing that would put them in danger. Yet she seemed to be hearing some sort of alarm bell.

Shiro joined her. The young man strengthened his eyes to look for what had attracted the attention of his friend. _Reinforcement_ is an elementary _Magecraft_. It is often the first technique taught to children in Earth's Magi families. It is also one of the most difficult to explain. _Reinforcement _amplifies a quality. In fact, it is a question of filling the gaps in the matter with _prana_ in order to reinforce (hence the name) some of its qualities. This can improve the hardness of an object or make the food more caloric.

Strengthening the view means making the view more efficient. Thus, two kilometers away, Shiro could count the nails on a wooden bridge or...

The red hair Magus made a cry of surprise and pointed to the narrow stone bridge that crossed the rift:

\- There is no snow on the deck!

... or count snowflakes when there were.

Rin, in turn, approached:

\- That's right, the landscape is covered with snow on both sides of the fault, but the bridge itself is as clear as if it had just been swept. And of course, there is no trace of steps that betray the passage of so-called sweepers.

The Magus with pigtails approached the nearest pillar and held out her hand... to see her cross the stone.  
\- Charming! This is not a bridge... but an illusion thrown by a **sadist**!

Having shouted the last word in the direction of the castle, she crossed her arms with a sullen air.

Shirou approached the rift to take a look below.

\- Falling into the abyss would not have been the end of our troubles... there are Death Dogs at the bottom.  
As they were chatting, Blaise had walked along the fault towards its narrowest point.

\- Lady Artoria, come and see.

Intrigued, the King of Knights followed the squire, he stood near the crag. As she approached, she frowned and then indulged in a strange "dance" that surprised her friends, moving away, approaching... and then describing a circle arch without ceasing to fix a point.

Rin and Shiro exchanged bewitched glances before the blacksmith called Saber. She approached them and turned to the cliff:

\- You can't see anything from here, unbelievable.

\- What are you talking about?

\- The wall is a continuous cliff, isn't it?

\- Yes...

\- Blaise?

The squire showed a point before them:

\- It's a trompe-l'oeil, ma'am. Between this part of the wall and this one, there is a drop. And in this hollow begins a ramp following the crack that you see there, it goes up there, and then it goes down here, on the other side of the rift.

Gonderic had also approached:

\- Well, then we know how to get over the hurdle.

\- Wait a minute.

All stared at Saber. She reflected, and then shook her head:

\- No, we will do otherwise. Our enemy probably trapped the passage. Shiro, how do you _Trace_ a Noble Phantasm? You need to analyze it, right?

The amber-eyed blacksmith strangely stared at his girlfriend, surprised by the apparent change of subject:  
\- Yes, of course.

She lifted up the copy of the Sword of Selection:

\- But you've never seen Caliburn.

\- Oh, that's because I had access to your memory during the Grail War. This blade is closely linked to your identity, after all...

Saber turned to Rin:

\- Rin if I'm thinking strongly about something, can you pull it out of my mind and pass it on to Shiro?

The Magus appeared stunned and rubbed her chin a few moments before drawing a small spiritual gem from her purse.

\- Yes... I can do it.

\- All right, let's start, then.

* * *

Shiro relaxed as Tohsaka asked. Concentrating, the latter had placed a spiritual gem in the middle of a small magic circle. She had first asked Saber to stick to it, now the redhead had replaced her.

Suddenly images formed in his mind. A man... a knight... Shiro knew he had never met him, yet he recognized him. His name was Osla. He was one of his youth companions... no, one of Artoria's companions... The feeling of sharing Saber's memories made him lose some sense of reality. The vision focused on the short and wide dagger Osla wore to the waist in a sheath of wood and leather. The blade had a name, **Gyllellfawr**.

Shiro held his hand at his temple, wincing. He felt a sudden headache and a desire to vomit... it was not an ordinary malaise. His ability to record a Noble Phantasm often caused him such setbacks.

However, Artoria's memories continued. Through her eyes, he saw Osla approaching a tumultuous river, holding his dagger in his hand. When he got to the narrowest spot, he threw the gun out and shouted:  
\- **Gyllellfawr!**

And the weapon turned into a... bridge!

A colossus in armor of plates approached Saber. Since he was not wearing a helmet, Shiro was able to detail his oval face and the blond hair in disorder which he was wearing. A handsome man, but his expression reminded him a little of Gilgamesh. His eyes were hard, his face scorned. His name was... Kay. The name filled Artoria's memory, mixed with a web of contradictory feelings... a sister's love for her older brother, the sovereign's irritation for an indocile oathbound. Kay, the name was obviously familiar to Shiro, it was the foster brother of King Arthur, also knight of the Round Table and seneschal of Camelot.

Kay set out from a vast burst of laughter that seemed forced upon him:

\- With this we have a sufficient bridge for the army of the three islands of Brittain, the three adjacent islands and all their loot! Too bad that big knife is the only use of that son of a bitch Osla. Because it's not very useful in combat... isn't it Osla the coward?

Before the vision wears off, Shiro still experiences the expression of pure hatred on Osla's face. Gasping, the Magus swallowed and tried to breathe regularly and slowly. His eyes rose up on Artoria who looked at him with a restless expression:

\- Are you all right?

He had a pale smile:

\- At times like this, I regret returning Avalon to you. Don't worry, Osla's knife is not a very powerful Noble Phantasm and I feel its blueprint has been added to the others. I just need to rest a little. The first _Tracing_ is always the hardest.

Saber nodded and silence settled between them... for a while, then Shiro turned to her. The young woman had a sad expression, seeming to be immersed in her memories.

\- I have never heard of Osla.

\- Still one of my youth companions, he stayed with me for a long time. He knew Camelot and the Round Table.

The way she said it made Shiro's heart crack:

\- But he did not stay until the end, he added.

Artoria had a pale smile:

\- He ended up turning on me (1)... like many others and I killed him.

* * *

Shiro approached the rift. He took a deep breath and exhaled deeply:

_I'm the bone of my sword_

_Steel is my body and fire is my blood_

The two verses of his incantation made its effect. As he stretched out his hand, the Magic circuits of his two arms began to pulsate. In front of his fingers, a bluish shape appeared amidst electric shocks. Slowly, the figure became denser, passing from the status of a luminous mirage to that of a large knife in a red sheath.

Critical, Shiro examined the weapon he had just grabbed, finding it exactly similar to the one he had seen in Artoria's memories.

He approached the rift and threw the knife:

\- **Gyllellfawr!**

Reacting to his name, the Noble Phantasm turned into a bridge. Shiro shook his head, disbelieving. Still, there was some completely idiotic Noble Phantasm..." I want a Noble Phantasm that turns into a bridge". He scratched his head... yes, why not. After all, it was no stupider than Prydwen, Artoria's shield that also served as a surfboard.

A certain Magus with pigtail hairstyle passed by:

\- Well, it is time to visit the tyrant of Verandia.

Following Rin, Shiro entered the strange bridge. However, what blacksmith or Magus could have built such stupid Noble Phantasms... Did Zelrecht make Noble Phantasms? He will have to ask Tohsaka.

* * *

Can an army of five attacks a castle?

Normally the question would be absurd, but the five who faced the defenders were not ordinary individuals.  
The entrance passage was not very attractive. It was a steep slope rising from the entrance gallows to a harrow that gave access to the inner courtyard. They had gone through the first door - wide open- without any sign of the castle guards. However, when they were in the mid-slope, the harrows at both ends of the crossing had fallen back into a heavy crash. Since then, crossbow bolt have been firing from arrowslit through both walls, while rocks have been released from the cornice.

As a new block of stone fell on them, Gonderic de Bel-Amant stood up to stand up, shield raised. The rock struck the aegis... and disintegrated, while a cry of pain revealed the end of the attacker.

Since his meeting with the Mirror Knight (2), Bel-Amant wore his armor. Now, the armor of the Mirror Knight was a Noble Phantasm of rank A! His power was to send back the attacks directed against him (3).

Artoria stood up, worried... and almost missed being hit by a crossbow bolt that broke to her right.

\- We cannot go on like this, roared Shiro, furious and in retrospect terrified of seeing death near his beloved.  
He held out his hand:

\- _Trace On_!

The sword that appeared looked strikingly like Caliburn. Its shape, its crescent guard and its size were identical to the point that one might think they came out of the same mold. Nevertheless, Caliburn was a coronation sword inlaid with gold and blue glass paste. While this one was much more soberly decorated.  
It was "Gram: The Dawn of Ruin", also called the "Sword of the Sun".

It was taken from the trunk of Yggdrasil, the tree carrying the eight worlds of Scandinavian mythology by Sigmund, the father of the legendary Sigurd, the killer of the dragon Fafnir.  
\- **Bölverk Gram**...

Electric arcs began to crack striking the ground around the blacksmith with amber eyes. Then a circle of green light formed around the sword and jet daggers materialized there... before they made their way to the tower defending the entrance post.

Gram, in turn, was thrown forward in a green beam of light. The blade crashed in the middle of the throwing knife ring and Shiro jumped, putting one hand on the knob of the Dawn of Ruin:

-... **Heaven Wheel of Destruction!**

The amber-eyed hero had only time to step back before an uncontrollable chain reaction started. A geyser of green light rose to heaven, blinding all who looked in its direction. The tower, gutted, disintegrates, throwing heaps of debris in all directions.

The explosion was "only" equivalent to an anti-fortress Noble Phantasm of rank B+, but this was more than enough to open the castle. A good quarter lay on the ground, collapsed, reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble!

Even Saber seemed impressed, shaking her head, she leaned over Shiro to whisper in his ear:  
\- Poser.

The redhead, embarrassed, massaged his neck laughing in an unnatural way.

Her friend considered for a moment what remained of the defensive position. Climbing the unstable ruins seemed unnecessarily dangerous.

\- I will make my way.

Pulling back a foot and rising her sword, pointing towards the wall, Artoria closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them with a shouting:

\- **Sword of Selection, grant me power! Cleave the Wicked!**

The weapon began to radiate a golden aura. The tip now looked like a shining star of all the lights of the spectrum.

-**Caliburn!**  
A dazzling golden beam struck the rampart. For a few seconds, he seemed completely unaffected, then sparks of gold appeared between the stones... before a succession of explosions dismantled a piece of the wall.

A complete panic had seized the surviving defenders and Saber turned around smiling at Shiro. Gonderic and Blaise looked at them, amazed by the power of these two warriors... unlike Rin. A hand on the face, in the classic pose of the "facepalm", she shook her head:

\- When you're done playing who's pissing farthest, can we continue our lead?

* * *

Atrum Galliasta was a Magus who specialized in a _Magecraft_ called _Primordial Cursing Technique_. The birds of a feather flock together, it was not surprising that he rallied to Angra Mainyu, the incarnation of all the curses weighing upon men. Both did not shrink from murder to achieve their ends and saw in the deaths of millions of innocents only as a footnote statistic in the fulfillment of their plans.

Despite the revolt of his lieges and his cities, the crushing of his army, the tyrant of Verandia had kept faith in himself, persuaded of his intrinsic superiority over the "maggots" (that is to say, everyone but him). Above all, he was confident in Doomcrag's impregnability.

It only took a few minutes for his confidence to evaporate.

Sitting between two tapestries depicting demons, Duke Atrum held his fists on the armrests of his throne. His cry of rage earned him a restless look from the two beautiful and poorly dressed women who were curled up at his feet.

The Magus was looking at a black glass mirror that reflected a top view of its castle. The intruders faced one of his familiar monsters, a mud octopus that had used its power of earth control to turn the inner courtyard into a pothole and limit the movement of invaders... except that the creature with multiple tentacles had just collapsed, cut into pieces.

Duke Atrum had the mirror slide to reflect the east wall. The decomposed corpses of assailants killed in a previous attempt to eliminate him were rotting there. He concentrated. A spiral of blue light enveloped each body... they stood up, grabbing their bows.

The tyrant did not expect the undead to stop the assassins who had come to kill him, but they could give him a respite that he could put to good use.

He reached the centre of the throne room, quickly drawing a magic circle with colored chalks. Yes, his specialty was curses... but he also had climate control rituals. The _Formalcraft_ could not be used directly on Nirn because the spirits governing the hours and seasons was different. Only it took more to hold Atrum Galliasta.

Staring at the black mirror, he uttered a formula that he had painfully created after several years of experimentation. Proud of him, he began to laugh:

\- Buffoons, taste the power of a Magus from a great lineage!

He could see the lightning falling again and again on the court, in an impressive display of power... HIS power.

His laughter choked in his throat... In the middle of a circle of sword crackling with electricity, a redhead stood up.

\- Are there... lightning rods?!

The strange redhead who was able to materialize swords had used an elementary science trick to neutralize his climate control ritual. Atrum would have been even more humiliated if he could hear Tohsaka calling his attack "third-order Magecraft ".

Seeing the five vermin who dared to challenge him this way towards the building where he was, Atrum pulled out the black mirror from its frame and withdraw by a secret passage. After all, prudence was the best part of courage... wasn't it?

* * *

Artoria stopped the fire demon attack and retaliated.T he monster looked like a kind of big biped and horned lizard. His feet were replaced by hooves made of fire that left burning marks. In his right hand, he held a kind of axe with which he tried to kill Saber.

As she fought back, repelling him thanks to her strength drawn from her Dragon Core. He blew fire through his nostrils... However, the young woman managed to jump aside to avoid the attack.

\- _Eisblitz_!

Fortunately, Saber was not alone against this demon. The ice bolt sent by Rin covered the monster's back and left arm with ice. He screamed then if she had sprayed him with acid. The King of Knights stepped aside to find herself in the blind corner of the paralyzed arm and swirled over herself... loading Caliburn with energy. The blade, dazzling with golden light, easily cut the monster in half.  
Artoria turned around gasping to look at the second demon of fire. He faced Gonderic, Shiro and Blaise. While the knight struggled in contact, insulting the monster, the other two harassed him... an effective tactic because although the demon was powerful, he was stupid, unable to realize that his blows were being returned to him by the Mirror-Armor.

When he fell in his turn, he turned into black smoke and regained the tapestry from which he came. When they entered the throne room, they were very surprise to see the demons of fire tear themselves away from the two-dimensional universe and attack them.

Rin acquiesced after looking at the wounds that now covered the demon in the picture:

\- No risk of them coming out, I think they're dead. However, I would like to know how Atrum pulled that off.

Lowering her sword, Artoria inspected the room ravaged by the clash.

\- We visited the entire first floor, but there are no stairs to the upper one. Shiro?

The red hair Magus nodded without a word.

A hand placed on a wall, he concentrated. Thanks to the _Structural Analysis_, a real three-dimensional plan of this part of the castle appeared to him. He reached out to the throne:

\- The left armrest controls a secret door behind this tapestry.

* * *

The first room into which they entered in the upper floor was a morbid temple. The high altar was dominated by a bust representing a wolf-headed humanoid. Chained to the stone table were two demons with humanoid busts, but whose head looked like a cow skull with brazing eyes. Their lower body was that of a snake and they had bat wings on their shoulders. The whole thing was particularly repugnant.  
As they advanced between the benches and the columns supporting the roof, a prostrate priest rose up. He wore a long hooded dress cut in a satin of the most beautiful red:

\- Welcome to the temple of Angra Mainyu. Are you coming to join his crusade against false gods?  
Artoria closed her hands on Caliburn, pointing the blade at the man with the invisible face, draped in the shadow of his hood:

\- Priest, I have come to put an end to this heresy! Angra Mainyu is not a god, and even if he were, I would fight him just as well.

The man reached out behind him and... a tear appeared in the air, above the wolf-headed bust representing the Supreme Spirit of Evil. Saber held his breath. She recognized the circular breach, haloed with red light that led into the Grail of Fuyuki. For the first time since her arrival on Nirn, Avenger manifested itself directly.

A filthy black mud flowed from the tear, materializing the billions of curses that formed the very nature of Angra Mainyu.

\- May my God answer your invitation to fight, get ready!

There was a sound of broken chains and the demons freed by their creator took flight in a great flap of wings.

\- Allow me to make the introductions... here are two sons of Angra Mainyu, they are called _Plague_ and _Leprosy_, incarnation of these two diseases. In recent years, they have liberally spread these plagues, a gift from our master.

The monsters materialized their weapons; one of them was using a black kris while the other had a short metal club strewn with barbarian ergots. The weapons had a pestilential aura.

* * *

(1) A war between Arthur and Osla is briefly mentioned in the _Dream of Rhonabwy_. Arthur also behaved in a very chivalrous manner, since he agreed to give Osla a time to prepare for war.

(2) See Chapter 17

(3) With some limitations: first you must wear the full armor and shield to be protected. Then the armor only returns attacks that are reflected on its polished surface. Also, an invisible attack or one carried out in complete darkness would not engender reciprocity. Lately, whether the attack is or is not returned, nothing prevents the wearer from being injured if the damage exceeds the capacity of absorbing the armor. Let us take an example: let us say that the armor provides protection of ten and that Gonderic de Bel-Amant suffers twelve damage points. The armor will absorb ten points of damage and Gonderic will lose two points of life, but his enemy will lose twelve, sent back by the armor. It is easier to understand the Mirror Knight's warning "Why … did they die?" asked Gonderic "They killed themselves." answered the fairy-knight (see Chapter 17).


	20. Chapter 20 The castle of the Tyrant (2)

**The Castle of the Tyrant**

**(Second Part)**

* * *

The huge hall was used for banquets. At one time, noble knights and ladies had feasted in this place amidst laughter and song.

An era long went...

The dust covered the floor in a thick layer and the velvet curtains covered the windows fell to shreds. No one had entered the premises for a good ten years.

Suddenly, an explosion sounds. Through the west wall, suddenly ripped open, a violent blast caused the deflected curtains to beat, raising a veil of dust.

A knee to the ground, Artoria shook her head to clear her ideas. Her armor smoked in places and blood flowed from her hair. However, they were just scratches. Given the violence of the attack she had just escaped, it spoke volumes about her resistance.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed, she saw a succession of pentacles of violet energy appear on the ground. Immediately, forms similar to fumaroles appeared above the magic circles, before increasing in the form of men in shadow with the eyes of embers.

Holding the projected version of Caliburn in her hands, Saber stood up, displaying a definite expression.  
In her chest, her Dragon Core poured out a flood of _mana_ that strengthened her muscles and bones. She rushed forward... so fast that for an ordinary human she would simply have disappeared. The blurred image of Saber appeared near two specters before she resumed form almost a third, lifting her blade in fourth guard to strike diagonally.

_Combination air_, also known as _Wind King's slice_, was one of Artoria's favorite techniques. It consisted of lowering the pressure of the air to decrease the friction, then rushing so quickly on the opponent that they could not counter.

Three specters dissipated in one last moan.

Nevertheless, others converged on her holding out their hands to absorb her vital energy.

Practically insensitive to such weak spells, Saber, however, wavered under the number of assaults. She responded with one of her best attacks:

\- **Starlight (Divergence)!**

Caliburn began to radiate golden light when she pointed it at her enemies, three bundles of energy gushed out in a fan, sweeping away the specters.

Panting, Artoria Pendragon leaned on the sacred sword so as not to collapse.

\- Watch out!

Saber turned around... fortunately for her, the attack that had just been carried was deflected by a mirror-like shield.

Gonderic de Bel-Amant had just prepared the assault carried out by a particularly filthy demon. On a humanoid bust finished by a snake tail was a cow skull with fire eyes. It moved by flying heavily, supported by two membranous wings.

The monster cried with pain and retreated, his own attack having been sent back to him by the mirror armor of the knight of Bel-Amant.

Leprosy, one of Angra Mainyu's "sons", was the embodiment of a curse. In this case, the horrible disease of which he bore the name.

Though shaken, the devil held his mace with one hand, and then raised the other, which was haloed with a pentacle of violet energy. In response, other specters appeared...

Artoria pressed her teeth.

The fight lasted a long time, despite the help of the knight of Bel-Amant, she could not strike a decisive blow. The clash had turned into a marathon, a fight of endurance... except that her opponent seemed to have inexhaustible energy reserves.

Let's hope Shiro does better than she...

* * *

Plague looked exactly like his "brother", except that his weapon was a black metal kris. He was flapping his wings in the middle of the inner courtyard of the castle, turning one way or the other. He was looking for his prey... a human who dare escaped him. However, the monster's instinct warned him that he was not very far away.

Around him were gathered the spectral victims of the scourge which he personified, these slaves were fully devoted to his service.

Suddenly, a silver meteor shower hit the yard. The result was spectacular. A series of explosions marked the destruction of the specter. As the pavements fell and the smoke stagnated, Shiro lowered his great black bow.

Next to him, Blaise was looking at him with googly eyes. He had never seen an archer shoot so fast! In less time than it took to say it, the strange redhead had sent a dozen strokes of unthinkable power.  
Yet...  
The calm and concentrated expression of the adolescent was replaced by a frustrated pout. As the smoke dissipated, the silhouette of Plague emerged from the swirls of dust. Amidst the craters dug by the explosions, the monster was unharmed. His glowing gaze turned to the battlements of the tower where Shiro Emiya stood.

_\- I'm the bone of my sword!_

In the hand of the amber-eyed hero appeared an arrow of daedric alloy. His dewclaw-covered tip bore the mark of Mehrunes Dagon... the prince of destruction.

This evil arrow was the Projection of one of the many weapons seized on the Daedras, the enemies of Nirn's men from the kingdoms of Oblivion. The Empire kept these trophies for reuse against the armies of the other princes of the Outer Kingdoms. The weapons forged by a Daedra were often superior against the servants of one of its rivals.

Launched with incredible power by Archer's bow and Shiro's reinforced musculature, the evil projectile took a flight to put itself in the enemy's head, breaking his magic shield and crossing his many protections.

The demon fell to the ground...

Shiro smiled, happy with the result, but it didn't last very long.

The monster stood up, pulling the arrow. Thanks to his reinforced eyes, the Magus with red hair could see the wound closing, clogged by a black mud that looked like the one flowing from the tear leading into the Grail. On his chest, a red tattoo had started to pulse before disappearing.  
The monster flapped its wings, heading for the battlements.

\- Retreat inside the tower.

Blaise nodded without a word, terrorized.

* * *

Everything was now in Rin's hands. Saber and Shiro had fled the temple of Angra Mainyu by dragging their "children" behind them to let their tsundere friend neutralize their real enemy.

The echo of an explosion echoed in the devastated corridors of the castle. Dust and wooden planks fell from a torn floor, while a door held by a single hinge collapsed into a pathetic noise.  
It doesn't matter who ends up winning the fight. At this rate, Doomcrag's castle would soon be nothing but smoking ruins.

Rin Tohsaka slipped from shadow to shadow, watching. She was moving towards the evil temple and at each step; the fear was tightening her heart a little more.

When she arrived at the entrance, the Tohsaka heiress took a brief look in the room. Above the wolf skull resting on the altar, the breach leading into the Grail was always open. The priest in the red robe was nearby... as well as about ten specters probably invoked by Avenger.

It was both good and bad news. Because it meant that Rin was - again- right. Angra Mainyu's "sons" were powered by their "father". Until the opening is closed, they'll be practically invincible!

Unfortunately, Avenger was fully aware of this weak spot. Hence the specter squadron deployed to ensure the defense of the temple.

The reincarnated Japanese woman took a spiritual gem from her purse. On Earth, she had used precious stones which she gradually charged with her own magical energy, a little more each morning. The gemstones trapped in the bowels of the ground, bathed in land currents for millennia, making them perfect containers to contain enough _prana_ to generate a spell of rank A.

More energy than a human Magus used during whole weeks of _Magecraft_ exercise.

Only when she arrived at Nirn, Rin had discovered that Tamriel's magicians were creating artificial magic stones, morpholiths. The most common were soul gems. These spiritual cells were used to imprison souls of creatures. There was a great variety of stones staggered in terms of power, capable of sealing the souls of lower animals to the most powerful daedras. They provided gigantic energy capable of feeding enchantments or spells.

Tohsaka had quickly adapted to this common resource throughout the Empire. Now that she could quickly renew her gems, since the houses of the Magi Guild were selling them, Rin had an almost inexhaustible source of _prana_.

Concentrating, she entered the room, before throwing a higher tier soul gem:

\- _Ein Körper ist ein Körper_!

There was a powerful explosion of yellow light. When the glare dissipated, the room was intact but the specter had disappeared. Rin had just used a _Release Spell_ capable of banishing demons, offering rest to the undead and even disable golems.

Before the priest recovered from his stupor, the Magus began to run towards the wolf skull. Through his cursed relic, Avenger sought to stop her, throwing a barrage of balls of black mud. But the projectiles disappeared before they touched her.

The evil spirit was very taken aback.

He could not know that Rin carried on her a chalice dedicated to the ceremonies of the aedric god Stendarr (1). The Magus stopped in front of the altar, brandishing the sacred cup and emptying the contents of her flask in the chalice... transforming water into holy water which she then poured on the horrible relic.

The effect was striking.

The fraction of the spirit of Angra Mainyu that possessed the wolf skull was chased away in the form of black steam, while the relic crumbled into dust. Above, the breach vacillated and disappeared, depriving Plague and Leprosy of Avenger's support.

* * *

For the fourth or fifth time, Saber hit a wall. Projected violently, she fell back to the ground like a rag doll, leaving the trace of a deep impact in the stone. Exhausted, bloody, the King of Knights rose up. The air burned her throat and she carried her hand to her side. The way she was hurting, she must have had a broken rib.

Surrounded by specters, the knight of Bel-Amant could not help her.

Saber held Caliburn in her hands, firmly directing the blade towards her enemy. The demon did not hurry, sure of his victory.

In fact, the young woman realized that she would no longer resist. Everything she did was useless. The severed limbs reformed, the wounds closed. No wound, even mortal, remained. An enemy who refused to die could not be defeated; it was as simple as that.

As the monster raised his mace, he suddenly paused to utter a cry of pain. On his chest, the red tattoo that had appeared after each injury began to pulse and then turned gray before disappearing.

Leprosy seemed shocked and withdrawn... a move he had never had until now!

\- The specters!

Turning to Gonderic, Artoria saw that the shadows were disappearing. She then understood and smiled. Rin had succeeded.

Saber leaps forward, using _Combination air_ again. Appearing almost simultaneously in three places in the room, the King of Knights cut through the thick columns that supported the ceiling. In an impressive cracking, the ceiling collapsed, burying Leprosy under beams, planks and heaps of stone.  
Of course, that was not enough to kill such a monster. Pebbles began to roll and an arm came out of the heap of debris. As the devil's chest emerged, Artoria rushed forward... forcing Caliburn into the monster chest until the guard!

Leprosy howled with suffering, but he was still not dead!

Struggling he grasped Saber's arm, seeking to make her let go. The eyes of the King of Knights narrowed. Normally, it would have taken desperate circumstances for her to use her ultimate attack.  
Fortunately, this Caliburn was only a traced version of the original. King Arthur drew all the energy he had left and channeled it into the blade... far more than a Noble Phantasm (degraded) of rank B could contain:

\- **Broken Phantasm: The Destroyed Illusion**.

Caliburn began to radiate an unbearable light and Saber kicked Leprosy to free herself. Seizing Gonderic, she began to run. As soon as they reached the courtyard, the building burst into a powerful explosion. A column of blue fire joined the sky, driving the clouds away.

Thrown to the ground by the blast of the explosion they heard stones and charred beams falling to the ground all around them.

Even a major demon couldn't survive that...

* * *

The two large bedrooms that formed the floor of the southeast tower had long since been unoccupied and left to dust. An Illiac's spider, as large as a sheepdog, had woven a web into one of the pieces. The green monstrosity held in its web a dries knight, still clothed in his rusty armor.  
The spider probably had her cozy home. However, upon the arrival of a specter army led by a demon, the colossal spider fled as fast as it could run on its eight legs.

Shiro pressed his teeth.

Despite the strengthening of his muscles and bones, the black kris had just penetrated his armor, causing blood to gush. He broke the engagement, dispelling Kanshou and Bakuya, for the married blades seemed incapable of hurting the monster.

He traced an unnamed Noble Phantasm; the weapon came from the Gate of Babylon of Gilgamesh. It was a dagger of ordinary appearance. With a nonchalant gesture, he waved it... throwing an ice attack that instantly immobilized Plague in a frost.

Then he is tracing another weapon, Houtegenki, the halberd of Lü Bu Fènxiān.

He leaped on the specters that surrounded poor Blaise, striking like a brute with the strength of thirty men. The halberd swirled, snatching the living dead as the scythe would cut the ripe wheat.  
Filled with the famous power of the flying general, Shiro eliminated one group of ethereal spirits after another. Alas, he arrived near Blaise only to discover the squire on the ground... drained of all his vital energy by the mortal contact of the living dead.

Normally, Shiro would have been devastated... only, Houtegenki greatly influenced his behavior. He screamed, filled with mad anger.

He was so blinded by the explosive personality of Lü Bu Fènxiān that he did not even notice the brief appearance of the tattoo on the breast of the demon.

Without the support of his "father", Plague could no longer invoke ghosts, nor regenerate his wounds.  
The demon staggered under a deluge of blows inflicted on him by an absolutely unleashed Shiro. Cornered to guard, Plague retreated until he found his back to the wall. At this moment, the amber-eyed hero swells his chest, holding his halberd with one hand. He had just invoked one of the flying general's combat skills: _Armistice_.

Shiro struck with all his forces breaking the defense of the enemy who found himself paralyzed by the blow. Then, twice, the Magus delivered powerful blows to the immobilized demon.

From the outside, a section of the wall was seen to collapse. The seriously wounded demon was thrown into the debris.

At the top of the broken tower, Shiro let the halberd of the flying general dissipate in glowing moths of bluish _prana_. He traced Archer's bow again, then focused.

\- _Steel is my body, and fire is my blood._

The arrow that was born was golden metal, delicately worked, visibly elven. It was a solar arrow made by the priests of the elven god Auri-El. It was a real counterbalance to counter demons and undead.  
Shot, it struck Plague between the eyes and wrapped him in a dazzling discharge of sunlight. Once the radiance dissipated, there was nothing left of the monster, except its silhouette cut out by the solar fire on the blocks given to red.

* * *

During this time, a third fight took place in the temple of Angra Mainyu. The priest in red dress had to do a lot to stay alive. He didn't have time to use his magic because his opponent was pressing him into contact.

Rin had just sent her elbow into his abdomen. Breathless, coughing up blood, he recoiled pitifully, eyes full of tears. But already, she cut off his legs with a sweep to throw it to the ground.

She did not press her advantage and broke. The priest stood up, foaming with rage, pulling a long sacrifice dagger from his belt. The weapon was made of silver and covered with inscriptions that entangled on the blade.

Before he threw herself at her, she pointed a finger in his direction:

\- _Gandr_!

By reflex, he dodged several shots, but others struck him and pushed him back. Rin was already rushing forward. Punched in the solar plexus, and then kicked in the face. Twice, she heard the bones crack, the face bleeding, the priest retreated again... but Tohsaka held tiny soul gems between her phalanges, she threw one of them which exploded before the priest. He managed to partially counter the detonation with a shield spell, but the magus in red raised her arm.

On her left forearm appeared the inextricable maze of her _Magical Crest_:

\- _Fixiering Eile Salve_!

The _Gandr Shot_ flew towards the red priest with the power of a volley of machine-gun bullets. The magic shield flew in burst. Taking advantage of the disappearance of the protective spell, Rin launched a new soul gem that exploded above the demonic priest. The splinters solidified into a gangue that immobilized his right arm and part of his chest.

Without his weapon, the priest remained dangerous. As Tohsaka was in range, he struck her in the face before kneeling her under the chin.

She staggered but was not seriously affected.

The young magus fought back with two punches and then with a sidekick that caught him at the temple. Exhausted, stunned, the priest hardly responded. Rin catches three crystals between her phalanges and projected them by murmuring an incantation.

Transformed into onyx-colored projectiles, the gems spun and pierced the breast of the devil's worshiper. He was dead before he even touched the ground.

* * *

Atrum Galliasta was shocked.

Physically shocked because he had just survived the collapse of a building blown by the explosion of Caliburn.  
Emotionally, because he had just seen twenty years of effort be wiped out. His army had been defeated, the commoners and his lieges had turned against him, the castle of Doomcrag lay around him in heaps of rubble, only two of the towers still rose above this disaster. The crackling of the flames surrounded it, ashes danced in the wind, mixed with snowflakes. Its monsters? Dead or fled. Even Plague and Leprosy had been destroyed.

This time he was supposed to be invincible... Caster... that bitch Medea was no longer there to betray him!  
\- It's him Atrum Galliasta.

Atrum turned around to meet four young peoples. A woman in armor so exhausted that a second knight had to support her, a redhead in damaged leather armor, and a young woman in short black skirt and a red turtleneck.

He recognized the lass...

\- Rin Tohsaka...

* * *

Shiro was watching Atrum Galliasta, Duke of Verandia.

It was a monster who had killed... no, slaughtered without remorse, thousands of people in the name of his ambitions. However, the duke had a pleasant physique. He looked like a handsome young man. If his long hair was blond, his skin was sun-kissed. He wore a long purple coat with a fur collar, split to his ankles. The coat opened itself at each step, revealing that the duke was wearing chainmail under it. A sword was hanging from his belt.

The armor and the weapon were pretty simple Mystic Codes.

Shiro sighed and asked the question he willing to ask for weeks:

\- Duke Atrum Galliasta, why did you partner with Angra Mainyu?

The _Magus _sniffed with contempt:

\- Everyone knows that it is better to walk with the Devil than to be on his way.

The amber-eyed hero turned to his friends:

\- I brought him back to life, it is my mistake, and it is up to me to correct it.

Hearing this, Atrum smiled. His opponents were tired, he was not. And this idiot wanted to face him alone... laughable. It was time to show him what a great _Magus_ like him was worth.

\- Well, come on, kid, I'm gonna teach you the lesson you deserve.

Atrum Galliasta raised his hand:

\- البرق مدمر (devastating lightning strike)

The electric shock flowed into the air. Without touching Shiro... a moment before, he had materialized a katana that attracted the zigzagging electrical arc and... cut it.  
The Duke of Vérandia remained motionless, his mouth open in an O of surprise... He simply could not understand what had happened. But his opponent did not allow him time to recover. Having dissipated the weapon, he began to murmur:

_Spirit and technique_

_Our strength rips the mountains_

_Our swords split the water_

_Our names reach the imperial villa_

_The two of us cannot hold the heaven together_

**Triple-Linked Crane Wings**

Kanshou and Bakuya appeared in the hands of Shiro who threw them towards Atrum. The blades swirled and struck him, causing blood to flow. But already, the hero rushed forward tightening other replicas of the Married Blades. In his hands, they described an X in the air and the Duke of Vérandia collapsed... fatally touched. His executioner fell one knee to the ground, five steps behind him, arms wide apart, forming the figure called "wings of the crane".

\- Imp... possible... I... can't...afford... to... die...

With his eyes fixed on the grey sky, Atrum Galliasta was cold. He could no longer breathe and his thoughts sank into nothingness. He carried regret into the hereafter. Why... why had he been defeated, once again without having accomplished anything? It was unfair.

* * *

The very next day,

The _berkana_ rune came to rest above a pile of debris.

Shiro winced before turning on Rin:

\- Are you sure?

She shrugged her shoulders.

\- Runes say the last fragment of the Corvus crystal is under there. But if you doubt me, you can always turn over another pile of ruins, while Saber and I search this one.

Her friend's evil smile made the red teenager shiver. His gaze swept away what remained of Doomcrag's castle, and then he vigorously scratched the back of his skull:

\- I never doubt you, Rin... you know that.

\- I am glad, Shiro-kun, I would have been sorry if your doubts forced you to search all the rest of the ruins, alone in the cold, while Saber and I found this great stone of Welkynd in a few minutes, We'd start talking and you'd forget... for a couple of hours.

Shiro swallowed and laughed clumsily at this joke... because Rin was joking... didn't she?

Artoria Pendragon lifted one broken block after another. The explosion that had destroyed Leprosy had literally pulverized the building. With reinforced muscles and skeleton, Shiro lifted a broken beam and frowned:

\- There is a safe here.

Rin, who played the inspector of the finished works, approached to examine the safe and called the King of Knights:

\- Saber gets it here.

Almost effortlessly, the knight lifted the heavy object and placed it in a roughly intact corner of the courtyard.  
\- Shiro opens it.

The reincarnated Japanese put his hand on the chest and concentrated on a _Structural Analysis_. With the information gathered, he then traced a key corresponding to the lock.

Rin smiles at her friend:

\- If one day you are tired of playing the Righter of Wrongs, you can start a big career as a burglar.

\- Uh... no, I'm not interested.

While Rin indulged in her favorite entertainment, that is to tease Shiro, Artoria engaged in an inventory of the riches contained in the safe: a fortune in gold coins, precious stones... and the last fragment of Corvus' crystal.

She pulled the other two pieces out of her bag. Yes, no doubt, the pieces complemented each other. For the first time in two thousand years, someone had gathered the three pieces. There was just to repair it.

* * *

\- _Minuten vor Schweiben_.

In a secret room under the great tower of Doomcrag, Rin had just nicked her finger, shedding some of her blood on the fragments of the Corvus crystal. The shards began to twinkle and become more concentrated. In an instant, the great stone of Welkynd regained its integrity. It looked like an octahedron some thirty centimeters long made of a kind of blue glass.

Rin took it in hand and placed it between the claws of meteoritic iron which held the crystalline magical core above a well from which regularly came sparks of light rising to the sky: an Ayleid well, channeling both the energy of Aetherius and the telluric energy of Nirn.

\- The Cristal de Corvus has regained its place. Saber, it's up to you.

The King of Knights laid her hand on the Welkynd's stone and concentrated. Two thousand years earlier, Corvus Direnni had taken Excalibur to the Outer Kingdom so that it would not fall into the hands of malicious individuals. But the Summoner knew that one day the Sword of Promised Victory would be necessary to save Nirn. It was, therefore, necessary that whoever had to use the Sacred Blade could go into the Oblivion plan where the Magician had hidden it.

The great stone of Welkynd was the key to this outward plane of existence, floating in an ocean of chaos. And Artoria had to be able to open a path to this plane of Oblivion.

\- Look at this!

Gonderic de Bel-Amant held out his hand, showing a portal of bluish light that had just formed in the middle of the room.

Rin reached out through the portal while looking at the side of the energy door. Although it was no thicker than a sheet of paper, the _Magus_ did not see her fingers come out to the other side.

\- Well, we are invited to come in, let's not keep the householder waiting.

* * *

The night reigned in this other world. A single moon hung in crescent in the diamond-studded velvet of the sky. For the knight of Bel-Amant who knew only the night sky illuminated by Masser and Secunda, the picture was shocking. For Artoria, even more. She studied the stars of the heavens in the company of Merlin:

\- The Great Bear... and there... the North Star... would we be back on Earth?

The question posed by the King of Knights was not addressed to anyone in particular but a spectral form appeared in the air. A man wrapped in a hooded coat. He looked at Saber and bowed deeply:  
\- O King Arthur, I have been waiting for you for many centuries. The sky you see here is only a creation of your humble servant. I have studied your sword at length and it has taught me much about your original world.

\- Are you Corvus Direnni?

\- Himself, Your Majesty, or, to be exact, his ghost. We do not have time to discuss; your arrival was probably felt by Angra Mainyu. He will come to you.

The ghost pointed to the nearby forest:

\- Following the path, you will arrive at a mound. This is my grave. In the main room, Excalibur rests on the stone coffin containing my remains.

As he spoke a shock shook the heavenly vault. Looking up, the visitors saw the night sky bursting with cracks generated from a central point, like a window struck by a stone.

\- He's coming! Run, King of Knights... fetches Excalibur.

In the second shock, debris fell in all directions. Passing through the breach, a flood of black mud poured over the ground of the kingdom of Corvus. This materialization of all the curses weighing on Man was contortioned to finally take on a filthy form.

A huge, monstrous pig carrying horns had just appeared. Its black and red skin seemed more like the Berserker of the Fifth Grail War. Around it, lightning struck the ground as the wind turned, surrounding it with a veritable bulwark of squall:

\- Henwen!

Artoria looked at the monster with an expression of horror.

\- Henwen? Asked Rin.

Saber nodding:

\- A beast of Gaia, of the breed of Calamities that ravaged the island of Brittain in my youth! It spawned many plagues including Cath Palug! Angra Mainyu has recalled to life one of my worst enemies!

* * *

Far from it, in a large ring-shaped building in the middle of snowy mountains, a small creature quite like a white squirrel slept rolled into a ball on the knees of a teenage glasses girl with purple hair. The animal, however, was not a squirrel and since it was wearing a short cape, could it really be called an animal? He suddenly straightened up, his ears shaking funny:

\- Fou? Kyu Kyu! [We're talking about me? Oh, but its mom's smell! ]

Cath Palug, or "Fou" as the girl preferred to call him, had not heard of Henwen since Palug's children had adopted him, taking him for a cat (2).

* * *

Shiro trace a magnificent sword which he handed to Gonderic. The blade was black metal; the guard was inlaid with gold, like the claws of the pommel, holding a milky gem:

\- Take this sword, it's called Durandal. You'll need it.

\- Thank you.

The knight of Bel-Amant could not have known that it was the sword of the paladin Roland, the first pair of the emperor Charlemagne. However, even a less expert look than his would have understood that the _Magus_ had entrusted him with an exceptional weapon.

Rin started to shout:

\- I will detain Henwen to prevent it from pursuing Saber.

As the monstrous sow trembled as she brooded, the magus with pigtail drew runes on the ground: _Algiz_, _Nauthiz_, _Ansuz,_ and _Inguz_. Before exclaiming with a loud voice:

\- _Ath nGabla: Shoal of Four Branches_!

Immediately, a curse called "_Ford of the Forked Branch_" fell on the monster. It forced the target to fight the one who threw the curse and forbade him from running away. It was a spell created by the Knights of the Red Branch.

The monstrous sow stopped and chipped before turning a red and hateful look on Rin.

\- It is working!

A little too well, the monster rushed on the _Magus_ who lost the capacity to react, frozen by terror. Fortunately, the knight of Bel-Amant could not leave a damsel in distress.

There was a violent shock when Gonderic deflected the assault from his shield. The knight groaned with pain because as powerful as the mirror armor was, the monster was even more so. This time, he had suffered damage.

Notwithstanding, he lifted up the sword which Shiro had given him, and cut it down with all his might. Roland's blade was not known for nothing as **Durandal: Ultimate Unbroken Hallow**. It did not need to be reinforced with _prana_ to cut anything!

The monster's front leg remained in place as Henwen fell to the ground. Already, the knight of Bel-Amant struck the groin making the monster howl with pain. However... the severed leg turned into black mud that sank to the stump before reconstituting the limb! The wounds inflicted on the head began to smoke. When the vapors dissipated, the wounds had closed.

Henwen screamed and the lightning fell again around the monster, breaking trees, while a gust of wind rolled his opponents for several meters.

\- **Nine Live Bladework**!

Shiro stood up, holding in his left hand a prehistoric weapon, a huge sword or a stone axe. It was Berserker's club.

With some logic, the amber-eyed blacksmith opposed the folly of a demigod to the furious beast. In spite of his small size, compared to Heracles, Shiro imitated his style well. Bouncing, he played force to strike in power and then retreated with agility to avoid counterattacks.

For now, the _Magus_ contained the monster, allowing Rin and Gonderic to strike at each break between attacks. They could hope to hold him for a long time, enough to allow Artoria to return.

* * *

Saber would run like the wind... literally.

As the sound of battle echoed behind her, the young woman suddenly stopped. The mound stood before her. No door closed the entrance to the mound covered with green grass. Caliburn in hand, she resumed her course in a corridor made up of large stones.

A large vaulted room occupied the center of the tomb. Empty, apart from a stone coffin without decoration and a chest at its foot. And placed on the granite lid... Excalibur, carefully slipped into its gold sheath inlaid with blue glass paste.

In spite of the weather... in spite of the danger... Artoria Pendragon felt invaded by a powerful emotion that made her hesitate.

Her fingers were shaking as she grabbed Avalon. At once a stream of energy circulated, uniting her _Dragon Core_ with the sheath given to her by the Lady of the Lake... her true Noble Phantasm.  
With the exception of her face, her body was surrounded by golden light. Her silhouette deformed, the bottom of it widened. Then, suddenly, the golden sparks disappeared.

Artoria now wore her splendid armor dress with her segmented plastron inlaid with a blue decor, her heavy gauntlets and the articulated steel blade skirt that protected her sides.

She turned around and started, her metal boots hitting the floor of the hallway.

* * *

Rin, Shiro and Gonderic were doing everything humanly possible to fight Henwen.

However, it was not enough.

Gonderic was the first to fall. Despite the armor-mirror, a header from the monstrous sow threw him against a tree. He would certainly have been massacred on the spot, but Shiro intervened.

The teenager was bleeding, his armor reduced to a wreck. He had abandoned **Nameless Axe-sword**. He now had a spear carved from the bone of a Phantasmal Beast by the witch of Dun Scaith.

\- **Gáe**...

The spear surrounds itself with a sinister blood-colored aura, pulsating in the hand of the _Magus_, eager to kill.

-... **Bolg!**

Shiro struck the ground in front of Henwen. It did not matter... the Noble Phantasm of Cù Chulainn changed the causality. Only an insolent chance or divine protection could prevent it from piercing the heart of the one being attacked.

The red ray came out of the weapon and zigzagged to get the desired effect, plunging deep into the sow's chest.

The monster took another three or four steps and then collapsed.

Of course, it was only a respite. Already a black smoke surrounded the ancient plague of Britain, repairing its wounds.

\- Rin takes care of Gonderic.

The _Magus_ in red rushed to examine the knight and turn pale:

\- He... he's dead!

Rising, she threw several large crystals to the sky:

\- _Gewicht, um zu Vendoppel ung_!

And the soul gems turned into silver lights that felt on the monster. There were several violent explosions, equal in intensity to spells of rank A.

In the devastated landscape, only a few trunks wrapped in flames were still standing. The rest of the forest lay on the ground...

Even Berserker on Earth would not have survived such an attack. Yet...  
A furious squeak rang out.

Wrapped in smoke, Henwen was already straightening up. Her hateful gaze rivaled Rin.

He would have charged, but a sudden presence diverted his attention. A silhouette had just stepped in. Shiro could see her from behind, but he easily recognized the blue ribbon that tightened the braid that was wrapped in the back of his former Servant's head.

She again wore her blue dress over a white petticoat, and the splendid heavy armor she wore when they first met.

Saber was back in full glory.

With her hands tight on Excalibur, she was facing the Beast of Calamities. Artoria took a look at her old Master and the _Magus_ in red:

\- Rest. From now on, this is my fight.

The knight woman considered the monster for a moment:

\- Do you recognize me? I'm King Arthur.

Henwen uttered a roar of anger that did not require translation.

\- I have already killed you once and I will do it again.

Artoria raised the Sacred Sword to heaven. Holding the _Last Phantasm_ with two hands, she closed her eyes. Slowly, the blade awoke, pulsating with a golden light. The ground itself lit up, the plants, the trees were haloed with gold.

\- _The gathering breath of the star. The shinning of the torrent of life._

Golden particles, like tiny pixies, left the flowers, the earth, and the forest, merging with the glorious light of the Sword of Promised Victory. The golden flame turned into a dazzling torch rising more than ten meters high. Its brilliance was now unsustainable.

\- _Take This_!

Artoria opened her eyes and lowered the golden sword of light she held in her hand.

\- **Excalibur**!

A stream of golden light flowed towards its target, carrying everything in its path like a torrent having broken all the dams. As wide and powerful as Henwen was, the monster was completely engulfed by the flood. Her black figure twisted as a scream of rage, terror and suffering echoed.

A golden geyser then leaped towards the sky discharging all the power that had accumulated to project it towards the stars.

There was no sign of the beast of Gaia. Just a burning crater and a few pixies still lingering.

* * *

Corvus Direnni came back.

\- Bravo, this is a favorable omen for the continuation of the fight. I see that one of your companions fell during the fight. Take it with you and follow me to my grave.

Preceded by the ghost, they reached the mound following the path that Artoria had traveled alone. Then they entered the short corridor leading to the vaulted room.

There Corvus Direnni showed the chest:

\- Open it up!

Several objects were stored.

\- Shiro Emiya, I offer you my cape. It is an invisibility cape. If you put it on you can no longer be seen.  
He then turned to the _Magus_ in red:

\- Rin Tohsaka, the vial is for you. It is an Elixir of Life. It contains a single dose of a cure that can heal all diseases, all poisons and bring a dying person back to full health.

As Corvus had requested, Saber placed the deceased knight on the lid of the tomb.  
\- Gonderic de Bel-Amant, here is my gift... this resurrection torque is for one use, but it will give you life without delay.

As Artoria placed him at the neck of the knight, the ghost turned to them, he became more and more blurred and blue particles left him:

\- It is time for me to say goodbye to you. For centuries, the melody from the other world has been singing to me eternal rest. I rejected that call because I wanted to give you my presents so you could save Nirn. In the name of all the dead and all the living, I implore you to succeed. If ever Angra Mainyu came back to life, this world would not survive. Even the Outer Realms would be destroyed.  
In these last words, the ghost dissipated, leaving them alone.

* * *

(1) See Chapter 16, recovered from a haunted and ruined monastery.

(2) Cath Palug simply means "Palug's cat" in Welsh.

* * *

**Author's Note: With the end of chapter 20, the "first volume" of Fate: Dragon Crown ends. I hope you enjoyed this fight; Henwen was kind of the end-of-level boss. **

**If you have any questions, feel free.**


	21. Chapter 21 The Heat Snake

**Sawtooth44: ****In fact, the Servants reincarnated in Fate: Dragoncrown are a very special case in fanfics. Which explains the specifics of their powers. On the one hand, they have bodies of flesh and blood and have been given a new birth, a childhood and so on, and on the other, they keep some of their Servant powers. Why? Because they are not the reincarnations of historical characters... but rather the reincarnations of the Servants of the Holy Grail War. Now there are two scenarios, reincarnated Servants who have a physical Noble Phantasm (a weapon like Saber or Lancer) and those who have power (like Archer and his UBW or Berserker and his "Hand of God"). In the first case, they only recover their Servant abilities after having found their Noble Phantasm... in the second; they have their Servant abilities at birth... I tell you how happy Berserker's mother was!**

* * *

**The Heat Snake**

* * *

The year 3E 419 had just begun.

In the cold of winter now well settled in the kingdom of Ménévie, the siege of Refuge was in its eighth month. The remnants of King Eadwyre's army strengthened by the militia rose among the inhabitants and refugees would have been defeated long ago if the Empire had not sent a Legion under the command of General Aldmer Valendil Ceberhas.

His tactician qualities had dazzled his allies... as his enemies.

In the last weeks of 418, Orc Chief Agraggush had launched a new assault on the gates with rams. General Ceberhas had to fight back by lassifying the ram's heads. After hoisting them up to the ramparts, he let them fall back, breaking the machines into a thousand pieces.

Having a large army recruited from among the orcs - all of whom were miners- Agraggush did not let himself be discouraged and undertook to undermine the wall by means of a tunnel. Except that General Ceberhas had water cups placed all around the ramparts. The blows of the pickaxe under the earth gave birth to circles in the liquid. As soon as abnormal activity was detected, the imperial general launched a counter-attack. Where other officers were satisfied with an attack by the miners, Valendil Ceberhas called on the city's alchemists. They concocted a sulfur-based poison which the general spread in the opposing mine. The gas, heavier than air, spread into the mine and caused a hecatomb.  
Not discouraged in spite of the losses, Agraggush then embarked on the construction of a siege terrace, a ramp intended to reach the height of the ramparts. At first, General Ceberhas had a tunnel dug and by night removed the soil under the ramp. However, the orcs were working faster than the imperial-Bretonic garrison was able to sabotage the terrace, and the terrace rose inexorably.  
Changing his method, Valendil Ceberhas had the exterior wall raised by a wooden structure, while around the threatened point; the interior wall of Wayrest was reinforced by an additional brick floor!  
Disgusted, Agraggush abandoned the idea of launching a direct attack on the walls. The blockade of the capital of the kingdom of Menevia had been complete for a long time. It was enough to wait until the defenders were weakened by hunger. The famine would have done enough damage within a few months for the stronghold to fall without a blow.

But King Gotwog was increasingly worried about rumors of a rescue expedition. Of course, he had sent an army to stop it. Nevertheless, we had to finish it here as soon as possible.  
The time had come to use his secret weapon.

* * *

On a rampart of the city, facing the sea, a group of high-ranking officers of the Legion accompanied by High-Rock nobles watched with concern the reinforcements received by the fleet that was blocking the port.

The tallest of the officer, with its golden skin, yellow amber eyes and blond hair, was an Aldmer with pointed ears. The High Elf wore a beautiful leather armor covered with a red bronze decoration representing the dragon of Talos, emblem of the sovereign Dragonborn, the emperor of Tamriel.  
The Elf General had unfolded his spyglass to steer it offshore.

Around him, everyone kept silent. No word could change what we saw. From the top of the chain tower, the bay of Illiaque spread out to the horizon, an expanse of cerulean blue, a splendor that exceeded the many fleets that blocked the port.

The blockade had become an ordinary spectacle in the last six months. Of this kind of ordinary which is the daily life tense on a single thread. But yet something had changed and the scene had become more threatening than it had ever been. By night, the number of ships had almost doubled.  
However, one detail made Valendil Ceberhas tender. When his neighbor saw him flinching, his smile was off, his silver eyes reflected a mocking irony:

\- Did you see something, General?

The Aldmer had an annoyed pout recognizing Archer. In recent months, he had learned to respect the competence of the man... After all, he invoked destructive arrows and swept away enemy war machines at an incredible distance. Nevertheless, the mysterious Archer was more arrogant than an Aldmer. And the High Elves were a little bit the measuring standard of this "quality" all over the continent.

\- You are asking the question, but knowing your incredible vision, you must have already understood what I saw.

Relying on the battlements with affected nonchalance, Archer crossed his arms. With his eyes closed, he nodded:

\- Of course, the bow of the galleass has a lighter structure than the pirate ships of Dragonstar. These are ships built in Cyrodiil, not Redguard warships. These are vessels taken in the hands of privateers of the Illiac Bay.

Valendil Ceberhas nodded:

\- Yes, and I would swear that they show us these ships so that we understand that Marcus Manfredi's fleet has been destroyed.

Valendil struck the merlon close to a punch. The pain made him wince without soothing his anger. With his eyes on the sky, he absorbed himself in the contemplation of the clouds that stretched peacefully in the azure. To be honest, he wasn't exactly surprised. After more than two months without receiving carrier pigeons sent by his lieutenant, he had come to think that Admiral Manfredi had been defeated. Nevertheless, between a supposition and proof there remained the space of hope. After the joining of the Redguards corsairs of Dragonstar, the destruction of the imperial fleet... nothing would be spared them. The number of their enemies continued to increase, while the number of their allies decreased from day to day.

\- We couldn't get lucky for once?!

It was not really a curse, but rather a plea. The fatigue weighed as much on Valendil as a garment too tight. Nevertheless, the urge to sleep disappeared when he turned to the grouped houses around the pier. Thousands of citizens of the Empire lived there with their wives and children. They needed him.  
A running noise caused the staff to turn around. A young officer climbed the stairs at full speed. He looked for King Eadwyre and slanted towards him. Under the soot that stained his youthful face, the man was pale. His hair was turned into blackened stubble. The uniform was hardly better, burned in many places.

He threw himself on his knees:

\- Your Majesty!

The old king of Menevia turned to the messenger his noble old man's face, beard, and snow-colored hair:  
\- Breathe, boy, your message can wait for you to catch your breath.

Nevertheless, the Breton officer did not listen. His eyes were hallucinated:

\- A dragon, Your Majesty! The enemy has sent us a dragon!

* * *

The young messenger was completely panicking and Archer had trouble unraveling the explanations he gave him. The noble Breton stuttered, butting on the simplest words. At times, he repeated himself as if he wanted to exorcise the visions of nightmares he described.

A kind of big snake had left the enemy trenches and headed for the walls. "A snake," asked Archer; "Yes, a reptilian creature with large arms at the front of the body." "No wings?" "No, it crawls like a snake, waving." "What weapons does it have?" "Acid, the dragon spits acid!"

Riding beside Archer, Valendil listened to the interrogation. He nodded and intervened:  
\- It is not a dragon, but a _linnorm_.

Surprised by the unknown word, Archer turned around:

\- A what is it?

The eyes of the Elf sparkled:

\- A heat snake. This northern cousin of dragons does not fly and does not have their intelligence. There are different species. They are recognized by their habitats and their breaths. The marine linnorm haunts the Phantom Sea and breaks ships with the force of its coils. It can spit bubbling water. The ice linnorm lives on the ice pack and has no breath. On the other hand, it has the power to create cold and model ice like clay. The linnorm of the hills is the only one with four legs. It has no breath either, but he is cunning and knows how to ambush. Our "friend" is a linnorm of fire; it spits acid but is neither the greatest nor the smartest of its brothers.

The Aldmer turned to King Eadwyre:

\- Your Majesty, fetch your magus! I will gather my soldiers.

The monarch hesitated only for a moment:

\- Understood.

They split up. While the Imperial General was galloping towards the barracks where the reserve troops were waiting, the King of Menevia was heading for the Guild of the Magi of Wayrest. As for Archer... he jumped on the ridge of a house and ran from roof to roof, faster than a horse.

* * *

Climbing the stairs of the watchtower, Archer was greeted by anxious soldiers. The officer took his arm, to take him to the battlements. Goblin formations were beginning to emerge from the trenches, in front of them, a serpentine monstrosity was advancing.

Archer felt an icy chill running through his spine. The heat snake was a hideous creature. The body was sinuous, obese, of a dirty gray crossed by large unhealthy veins. In places, mould and seaweed hung on to its scales. The head resembled a horse in its shape. There was even some kind of filthy hair mane.

The monster had already passed the boulevards devastated by the artillery of the orcs. On the ramparts, archers and crossbowmen began to shot. Powerless, their strokes clicked on the scales of the linnorm, harder than steel. Someone screamed to have the trebuchets pulled. Alas, it was already too late…

The heat snake was already standing too close to the outer wall. With a ripple, it straightened, suddenly dominating the walkway. The soldiers had stopped, petrified by horror. Archer bowled to the parapet. At full lung, he ordered the defenders to take cover and move away from any openings. This is enough for some to get out of their deadly trances. For the most part, the warning came too late.

There was a tremendous rumble when the monster opened its jaws. A cloud of green smoke gushed out of its nasals. Suddenly, the linnorm spewed out a bubble of glaucous, bubbling liquid.

The corrosive blood cell burst into contact with the hoardings laid as reinforcements of the walkway. A multitude of splashes spilled on the roof. Where they fell, the banners ignited in an instant. Tiles and beams were drilled with a multitude of smoldering abscesses. At the point of impact, the roof broke. Below, showered with acid, the men screamed. A drop of the fluid was enough to cross them back and forth and kill them in an instant.

Stripped of the flesh and the planks, the rock of the walls crackled. The abominable fluid flowed down the walls, leaving deep burned marks.

What the most powerful war machines would have taken days to accomplish, the Linnorm did in a matter of minutes. A whole section of the walls was crushed. The stone resisted. However, the long venom serpentines infiltrated the mortar to disintegrate it. Rock quarters broke loose to open up the battlements.  
A silhouette suddenly interposed. A form wrapped in a long red silk dress. In the darkness of the hood, one could see the bearded face of an old mage. Insignificant in comparison to his enemy, the spellcaster held a long stick. The piece of black wood and ivory was engraved with metal runes.  
The Linnorm came closer, thinking he could shoot its opponent without difficulty. But the mage was not deprived of defense. The bubbling globule appeared to hit a wall of air that was brutally solidified. The force field waved, releasing the venom that dug a trench into the ground.  
The event exceeded the limited intelligence of the heat snake. Stunned, it waved on the spot by sniffing loudly. Without giving it time to recover, the mage pointed at the monster his heavy staff of power. The runes burned and the air became electrified. An electrical arc formed to unite the Breton and his victim.

The flash dazzled Archer. With his hands pressed on his face, he staggered when a howl of pain shook the citadel. Thrown to the ground, the reincarnated Servant heard a formidable shattered rock crash shake the wall.

The concussion left him stunned for a moment. Yet fear acted as a stimulant. Leaning on the wooden balcony, Archer looked down at the exterior wall. A large portion of the perimeter had collapsed. It was the linnorm that destroyed it in its fall. The monster was wounded. Only, it needed a lot more to overcome it. It was already standing, carrying its hands to its chest.

In spite of the darkness and the colored flies that still troubled his sight. Archer saw the charred scales and the smoke rising from the bruise. The monster groaned and turned its head to the left. An inanimate form lay in the middle of the rubble. Its red robe was that of the mage.

Something had to be done. Despite his precarious balance, _Alaya_'s former dog turned to the other occupants of the observation tower. Most of the officers were still on the ground only a more robust soldier stood slowly. Archer summoned his bow and a translucent _prana_ arrow.

However, the hero had not been fast enough. A howl of pure terror made him turn. Head turned upside down; the linnorm finished swallowing a Breton soldier. Only the legs still protruded from his jaws.  
As cold anger hammered his temples, Archer held out his powerful black bow. What then happened could not be followed by any human eye. He would summon arrows and shoot them at an incredible speed. The projectiles spun like machine-gun bullets and exploded on contact with the heat snake.

A house would have been razed to the foundations. However...

The creature simply turned its long neck in search of the one who had just attacked it. It had not received a scratch.

Motionless in this position, the heat snake offered itself in profile. Archer held out his hand by concentrating:  
\- _Steel is my body_.

A strange sword materialized. As dark as night, it had a plaited appearance, with holes in the center of the blade. When Archer laid it on his bow and stretched the rope... the strange weapon lengthened out to turn into a kind of arrow with a quirky appearance. It lit itself with a bloody glow.  
\- **Hrunting**!

This new projectile spun with a force far exceeding the previous ones, changed into a magic bullet of red light. There was a powerful explosion that blew a ball of fire and smoke to the sky.  
Crying with pain, the monster shook its head and straightened itself. Its large split plums focused on the belfry, identifying the origin of the shot.

As the linnorm advanced towards the observation tower, a panic movement seized soldiers and officers. Without listening to the reassuring words of Archer, they rushed to the stairs.

Irritated by the resistance of the monster who refused to die, the former Servant adjusted the monstrous snake to send him a new traced copy of the sword of Beowulf, altered in an arrow. As usual, the trajectory was perfect, hitting the monster in the mouth as it opened its mouth to spit.  
The explosion, contained by the body of the beast, was less violent than the first... at least for those who witnessed it outside. A mocking smile appeared on the lips of the former Servant who watched the monster collapse, wrapped in smoke, waving its head and twisting... Unfortunately, Archer continued to underestimate the giant snake. It was not the contortions of agony, just the effect of pain and anger.

Before he could notch another arrow, the linnorm straightened to its full size. It was not tall enough to reach the hoardings of the inner walls. However, its head was swinging almost one floor lower.  
As Rin's former Servant looked at it, the monster took a gigantic inspiration. The hero let go of his bow before running away. An instant later, the wooden balcony was shaken by a shock that made it fall.  
Crawling on the elbows, Archer did not linger to observe the damage caused by the venom. The acrid smell of this infernal vitriol grabs him at the throat. Joists gnawed to the heart were broken in a great cracking. Thick boards broke like matches, and pieces of the roof came loose to bomb the reincarnated Servant.  
However, as quickly as the cataclysm had spread, the calm returned. There was only the noise of the last tiles to hit the ground. Spreading out the arms he had raised to protect himself, Archer finally turned around. Within a few paces remained only a large shredded hole and planks reduced to the state of blackened chicory.

The reincarnated Servant became tense with anger. Leaning over the balcony, he looked for the monster of the eyes. The Linnorm had turned back, disdainfully.

Through the breach that the snake had practiced, a crowd of goblins was now pouring into the square. Decimated by the creature, the garrison was torn to pieces. Archer hesitated for a moment. Was he supposed to help the soldiers in their counter-offensive or deal with the linnorm?  
The monster was much more dangerous. It was he who had to be eliminated first. Straightened, Archer invoked a new bow. Avoiding the hole created by the blast of the heat snake, the former Servant gained a position close to that which he occupied a few moments earlier. From there, he could see the linnorm. The monster turned its back, busy waving towards the east gate. With all the strength of his lungs, Archer insulted the monster to get his attention.

It is impossible to know if the linnorm understood. However, the dragon's cousin stood on its tail, its head turned towards the one who called. Archer was waiting for this. Two hundred meters away, the eyeball made a tiny target. Moreover, with the battle taking place all around him, Archer could no longer use an arrow that could massacre his allies. He was going to have to be precise.  
A smile played on Archer's lips.

Since childhood, he had only missed his target once... and it was intentional.  
His shot nevertheless described a perfect trajectory. Sent with an unthinkable force, the arrow sank deeply. Only the tail came out of the eye that the arrow had just burst.

The reptile's cry of pain resounds even more strongly than the first time. The former Servant had hoped that the iron would reach the monster's brain. Unfortunately, the linnorm had a resistance that honored its draconian origins. Filled with vengeful fury, it began to crawl quickly toward the tower.  
Leaning to the balcony, Archer placed a new arrow on his bow. The shot was proving harder at this angle. Emptying his lung, the hero imagined his projectile that pierced his enemy's brain. When the image was clear enough, he released the rope.

The blood spurts out of the broken pupil. Again, the heat snake twisted with pain.

Became blind, he seemed to sink into madness. From tail and claws, it struck the wall and went straight ahead. To the misfortune of the goblins, they were in his path. The linnorm made carnage. Then, hitting the outer wall, he unleashed itself against it. The fortifications collapsed like a house of cards and the monster rushed to the Orc camp.

Emptied of all force, Archer sat on a heap of debris. However, the hero did not stay long alone. A handful of imperial archers came to join him. Valendil Cerberhas led them. Seeing the hero so exhausted, he smiled:

\- A new achievement on your part, Archer.

With his legs crossed, his arms on the "backrest" of his throne of rubble, Archer had a sarcastic smile:  
\- I think I will be able to make new snakeskin shoes... when this monster is tired enough to slaughter orcs..

* * *

The evening fell on the castle of the king of Menevia. Closed windows kept the warm given by the burning fire in the fireplace. Nevertheless, the mullioned windows allowed the light of the winter setting sun on the sea to pass. Tired of watching King Eadwyre fix the pieces of the chessboard that separated them, Valendil rose to watch the waves transformed into mercury by the bloody star.

\- It is your turn.

Without turning around, the Elf shook. A fairytale of roofs descended to the sea. In the setting fire that lit the horizon, they seemed made of pure gold.

\- What did you play, Your Majesty?

\- Bishop from E4 to C6. Check.

\- King from E8 to F7.

\- Do you play by visualization?

-I have an excellent memory.

There was silence. The king began to think again.

\- What are you thinking, General Ceberhas?

\- I am looking for a solution to win this battle, Your Majesty.

Behind him, the Aldmer heard the sound of a chair being pulled, then of the wine being poured. The silence then established itself, the time that Eadwyre drank a sip and then put down his cup.

\- Rook from H4 to F4. Check.

\- Thank you for the tower, Your Majesty. I take it thanks to the knight in G2.  
The old king muttered a low-voice swearing. Valendil heard a thud. He imagined that the king had come to the table to better watch the game.

\- You know, Your Majesty, you have no reason to complain about the day result.

\- Pardon me? We have two breaches in the first wall and major damage to the inner one. I don't call this a brilliant result, General!

The surprise of the monarch made the elf smile:

\- Yes, you are not wrong, Your Majesty. Nevertheless, the damage that the linnorm has caused us is much less than the damage it has inflicted on the orcs as it passes through their camp. There is a saying, "You must never attack an enemy until they are ready to be defeated." The orcs used their monster too soon before we were weak enough. It was a fault they paid dearly.

\- Pawn from B6 to B7.

\- Knight from F4 to D3. If the war we are fighting was a game of failure. I'd say we just lost a major piece with Marcus Manfredi's fleet and a minor piece- the breach in our walls- with today's confrontation. However, during the siege, we were able to get our troops into a better position. In chess as in life, it is not the number of pieces left on the chessboard that wins. It is the ability to put the mat and thus to occupy the strategic squares.

Taking advantage of the silence that followed this exit, Eadwyre announced his new movement. The king moved his rook from C1 to C3. The Aldmer seized the danger that threatened his knight in D3 and moved it towards E1.

\- Your Majesty, what I fear most is that we will be blocked in Wayrest by the enemy fleet, blocked to the Pat!

\- We could benefit from unexpected help. Pawn from B7 to B8. Pawn becomes a lady. As you just said, it's all a matter of position. Nine months ago, an insignificant teenager lived in this country. She saved this city several times at the beginning of the siege... before you arrived, General Ceberhas, before Archer even came here.

Valendil acquiesced. The king had told him about the arrival of this young girl... Artoria Pendragon. She had left the city to search for a magic sword, a quest given to her by Lady Mara herself. The siege prevented any communication from reaching them. Even the mage's spells of _Clairvoyance_ and _Clairaudience_ were blurred by the Orc shamans. It is impossible to know whether the teenager who carried all the hopes of the besieged was already on her way to deliver them... or dead.

\- I believe that the gods protect and guide us, Your Majesty. But will she remain alive long enough to save us? Have you forgotten my bishop in H2? It's taking your young queen.

\- Do you think Angra Mainyu will try to stop her? My bishop in A7 is taking your bishop in B8.  
\- If this god of darkness exists and if the destiny of Lady Pendragon is to defeat him, it is obvious that he will do everything to get rid of her before she acquires the strength necessary for her mission, Your Majesty.

There was a moment of silence that the general interrupted by returning to the chessboard, taking a piece in his fingers, he considered it for a moment with a thoughtful air, before repositioning it on another square:

\- Knight movement from B 4 to D 3. Checkmate! Your Majesty, remember that a strategist does not seek a path to victory, he explores _all_ paths. Believing in the gods is good. But I prefer to pray for divine help by organizing my troops as if they were alone in front of the enemy.

In any case, Ceberhas had only to last until the summer... because an imperial army was gathering in Skyrim. As soon as the passes were released from the snow, the Legion would lift the siege.


	22. Chapter 22 The King of Swords

**Note from the author: note that the events described in chapter 22 take place a little more than two months before those of chapter 21.**

* * *

**The King of Swords**

* * *

Once again, Shiro Emiya dreamed...

He dreamed of the ash desert that covered part of the island of Vvardenfell, a desert of ashes in the shadow of the continent's greatest volcano... the Red Mountain. The night sky was lit by the two moons of Nirn, Masser, and Secunda whose rays filtered between large clouds of volcanic dust.  
These nocturnal stars illuminated a barren, rough landscape, succession of red ash dunes and scarlet rock cliffs.

Yet this dreamlike landscape differed from the original. Never had the Asheland of Vvardenfell been covered with swords.

The amber-eyed blacksmith walked in a fantastic landscape. Around him, as far as the eye could see, swords were planted in the ground. In this lifeless landscape, they formed a sinister vision like so many crosses on graves.

Swords... they were of every kind, in every possible metal... Some were nothing more than roughly forged blades while others inlaid with gold and gems could have served as the coronation of emperors.  
Many of these blades were not ordinary. It emanated from these blades a power that Shiro felt and understood because he had an intimate understanding of these weapons. In fact, he was walking in his personal armory, where the "blueprints" of the weapons he was _Tracing_ were stored.

Without order and logic, weapons from the two worlds were intertwined. Katana, tanto, wakizashi, dai-katana, ninjato sighted in Japanese museums as well as weapons from Gilgamesh's **Gate of Babylon** represented his world of origin. But they mingled with Orc Orichalcum scimitar, graceful Aldmeri swords in an elven alloy, short Cyrodilian steel swords, Nords Stalhrim (a kind of enchanted ice that never melt) brands, chitin or ostalium swords forged by the Dunmers, dwarf dwemer alloy halberds, swords covered with dewclaws made of daedric by the Daedras of Oblivion, glass and ebonite weapons, mithril and adamantine, or dragon's bones and teeth. They represented the pinnacle of the art of forging for civilizations dominating Tamriel, on the world of Nirn.

As Shiro walked among them, he stopped with a grimace of pain.

A violent migraine had just awakened, clamping his head in a vise. The landscape around him became clouded, like the screen of a deregulated ancient cathodic television, the colors became faint and the image distorted, hacked with parasites.

In the wind that lifted up the red ashes vomited by the volcano. Shiro heard a voice similar to his own:

_I'm the bone of my sword_

_Steel is my body and fire is my blood_

_I have... ted... over... and blades_

_From... world_

_To... ther_

Shiro fell to his knees, tortured by pain and a strong urge to vomit. The memory of his last sojourn in this desert of sword returned to his memory... blades had come out of his body, penetrating him from side to side.

However, it was not meant to end that way at that time.

\- Enough!

Before his lowered eyes appeared at the bottom of a white mage's gown and black shoes. A dark wooden staff struck the ground twice and a magic circle formed, surrounding Shiro. Immediately the pain left him, however, he remained panting.

After what seemed to him for several minutes, the blacksmith with amber eyes was able to stand up and looked for his savior. He had sat on a rock and watched with interest, a heavy Z-shaped staff between his arms. He recognized him without difficulty, it was not their first meeting...

\- Merlin!

The young face, the hair all undone, white with rainbow reflections, the Wizard of the Fowers had a half-smile full of irony:

\- I see that you have not forgotten me... and that you have learned my real name.

He touched his forehead in the cliché posture of a medium having a vision:

\- I see... I see... you met a beautiful girl with golden hair and green eyes (but a little too flat for my taste).  
Merlin's hands drew into the air a voluptuous female figure, leaving very little to the imagination as to his tastes in the matter.

\- And yes... I am a prophet... except that I didn't need this to know that you were going to meet Artoria. It was your destiny, Shiro Emiya... the destiny you forged by asking the Grail of Fuyuki to bring you together. The fragment of the Corvus Crystal I gave you was useful... as I had predicted. And you helped bring Artoria and Excalibur together. Well... very well indeed.

\- Where... where are we?

Merlin looked at Shiro for a few moments with an expression of disbelief. Then the magician shook his head:

\- So you didn't even realize that? We are in your soul...

Recovering, King Arthur's advisor swept the landscape around them with one hand:

\- What surrounds us is a _Reality Marble_, the expression of what is inside you... You don't think there are no consequences to say: "_I'm the bone of my sword. Steel is my body and fire is my blood_"? An incantation of this type has a bit too... literal effect.

He stretched a finger towards the blades:

\- Look there... Your flesh.

Then towards the flames crowning the Red Mountain:

\- And here... your blood.

The magician's mocking and amused expression were replaced by anger, pity, and worry:

\- Shiro Emiya, look around! This is what you did to yourself! At least Jesus was content with bread and wine, harmless... fire and steel, here is your Eucharist, Shiro Emiya.

The adolescent's knowledge of _magecraft _was nothing extraordinary. At best, we could call him "third rate Magus "... as Rin often did, by the way.

Nevertheless, Shiro knew the theory of _Reality Marble_. A powerful enough Magus could materialize and project around him its "inner universe" according to the thaumaturgic theory of the Egg-World. Except that this kind of _Bounded Field_ could only be created by very powerful beings, such as the _Death Apostole Ancestors_, because it required a phenomenal amount of _mana_.

\- Uh... Merlin, if this is my inner universe how did you get here?

The magician began to laugh:

\- My father, Morwin, was an incubus. I received from him the innate ability to enter dreams. But let's talk about how you create this universe. Come, follow me!

Showing the way, Merlin undertook to climb a hill. Looking up Shiro discovered that its top had a very different look than anything else around it. Swords were more abundant there than in the desert... nevertheless, the blades were planted in spring grass, sown with flowers where multicolored butterflies were foraging.

Golden light illuminated the place; it came from Excalibur placed on an altar at the foot of a statue of Saber. The place had changed a lot since his last visit. The desolation of his inner universe seemed to have receded... since he had regained the love of his life.

\- Excalibur? Does Excalibur create _Reality Marble_?

Merlin turned around to cross the questioning look of the young Magus:

\- No... not exactly, Avalon!

\- Avalon? The sheath?

\- Do you see the island of the same name somewhere in this desert? No? Well... what is Avalon?  
Shiro frowned at the magician:

\- Excalibur sheath?

Merlin looked up at the sky with the expression of an exasperated teacher facing a slooooow pupil and said:

\- The sheath that your adoptive father, Kiritsugu Emiya, placed in you... _empty_.

The way Merlin insisted on the last word must have given it a special meaning... but which one? Shiro scratched his neck, thoughtful but without understanding what the magician meant. The latter sighed and began to speak, articulating clearly, detaching every word, as if speaking to a six-year-old child:  
\- Kiritsugu has placed within you the empty sheath of Excalibur... a sword-shaped _Last Phantasm_... an imprint of this weapon... like a mold.

\- A mold...

Shiro looked around him, thousands of swords, to the horizon.

-A mold of a sword...

\- Yes, you have just understood! Avalon is the mold of all these replica swords.

Merlin did not add "finally", but the sarcastic tone left no doubt that he thought so.

\- The devastation of the end of the Fourth Grail War had literally left your soul naked, washed of all personality, a blank page that just needed to be rewritten. By placing within you what is literally the mold of a very powerful Noble Phantasm, Kiritsugu let it mark you, changing the way your soul worked. Then he taught you a simple form of _magecraft_, the _Projection_. It was exactly what you needed to express that "sword mold" ability that settled in your soul.

\- Wait, I returned the original Avalon to Artoria. This is just an imperfect copy...

Merlin cut it out:

\- Of course, most of the copies drawn around us are imperfect. For example, this copy of Excalibur is only rank B+ and yet you would be unable to use it. But, this is not the case of Avalon. You've had the original in you for years... it's part of you. It would be more accurate to say, as Artoria does, that you are her sheath. Avalon rewrote the blank page "Shiro Emiya" by inscribing the values defended by its rightful owner: chivalry, protection of the weak, devotion to the widow and the orphan. Avalon is the core of your soul, Shiro.

Leaning on his magical staff, Merlin no longer showed the slightest irony. Again his expression reflected worry and... pity:

\- On Earth, these abilities would have earned you a _Sealing Designation_ from the _Clocktower_. But here things are even more serious...

\- What do you mean?

\- Shiro Emiya, on Earth, a _Reality Marble_ would collapse within minutes, eroded by the combined power of _Alaya_ and _Gaia_. The first denies men that they master such power because it makes them more than men, which would be antinomic of its function as the sum of all human spirits. As for _Gaia_, she refuses the violation of the laws of nature represented by a _Reality Marble_.

Merlin waved his staff:

\- But we are on Nirn and other powers are at work. There is nothing like _Gaia_ and _Alaya_ in this world. The first is replaced by the "Bones of the Earth" or "_Ehlnofeys_". They are gods incarnate on Nirn and degenerated, having lost their divine attributes. They died a long time ago... yet they still exist in the form of a collective consciousness that anchors the reality of Nirn. They represent destiny. In the future, Emperor Uriel Septim VII will leave the Imperial City through the prisons, to flee from the assassins... in the cell where the secret passage opens, he will meet a prisoner. The latter has for destiny to save Nirn from the invasion of Oblivion... his presence in this cell will be a "chance" woven by the _Ehlnofeys_ to launch him in his task (1).

Thinly, Merlin looked at the moons in the sky of Shiro's _Reality Marble_:

\- The other power is the Aedra, the Nine Gods of the Imperial Pantheon, who are partly _Alaya_ and partly _Gaia_. They have a singular limitation. These gods can only act through mortals. Thus, to protect Nirn from the Daedras of Oblivion all their power rests on one individual... the emperor.

\- The Emperor?

Merlin smiles at Shiro's surprise:

\- Young man, in this second life you were born into an imperial family. So you know what the Amulet of Kings is.

Shiro acquiesced; he had to undergo the imperial catechism during his childhood:

\- It is a very ancient amulet. It is said that Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods, it is said that it is a relic of great power... If I remember correctly, Akatosh, the king of the gods would have created it by taking "blood from his noble heart".

\- Right, and you know that the Emperor is a Dragonborn?

Shiro wondered what the connection was between the emperor and him... He remembered that one of the Blades -the bodyguards of Akaviri origin of Uriel Septim VII- had once told him that the emperor took from his dragon blood strange gifts... and Uriel Septim VII must have probably seen something in him; otherwise he would not have given him the best possible magical and warrior education. The redhead blacksmith agreed:

\- Yes, he descended from Tiber Septim, founder of the Tamriel Empire... who became a god after his death under the name of Talos.

\- Yes, absolutely... and Talos did not have the blood of an ordinary dragon, he had the Blood of the Dragon... of Akatosh, the dragon god. When a new emperor is sacred, he is led to the temple of the One, in the Imperial City, where he must use the Amulet of Kings to light the Dragon Fires. The rite is no longer understood nowadays... except by the emperor. For the common people, it serves only to prove that the Emperor has indeed the Blood of the Dragon which allows him to use the Amulet of Saint Alessia. Except it's more than that, the Dragon Fires are the key to the barrier that separates Nirn from the Outer Realms. Shiro, do you know what the Outer Realms are?

\- Uh... the Daedra residence?

Merlin applauds with irony:

\- Bravo, my young pupil! Nirn's cosmogony tells us that this world was created by the Aedras (literally "those who are our Ancestors", in Aldmer). These gods sacrificed their independence to incarnate. They are literally the world of Nirn. Akatosh being the sun, Mara, Dibella, Stendarr, etc... are gods but also planets of this star system. By embodying themselves, they have reduced their powers to allow the planetary system to exist. Only, not all the gods accepted this limitation of their powers. Those who refused to participate in the creation of the world of Nirn became the Daedra ("those who are not our ancestors"). Not all Daedras are monsters. I am thinking in particular of Meridia, the goddess of light and life. However, others such as Molag Bal, lord of rape; Mehrunes Dagon, the Prince of Destruction or Vil Clavidus only wish to cause suffering to mortals. The barrier raised by the Aedras prevents these demons from spreading over Nirn. To come back to my question, the Outer Realms, or Plans of Oblivion, are the lands created by the Daedra they are the materialization of their thought...

Shiro startled and Merlin had a malicious smile at this reaction:

\- Yes, you can see where this is going. It's not what's called a _Marble Phantasm_... No, Nirn is a gigantic _Marble Phantasm_ (2) created by the gods by sacrificing some of their powers and especially their autonomy. Nirn is stable. The Outer Planes are Reality Marble raised in the Original Chaos extending beyond this planetary system. They are constantly eroded by Chaos and only the presence of a Sigil Stone, a powerful morpholit, allows anchoring these planes and protects them from erosion. If these Sigil Stones are removed from their supports, any traveler in the Plans of Oblivion is sent back to Nirn, as in after the collapse of any _Reality Marble_.

\- But then...

Shiro hesitated and Merlin nodded:

\- Your _Reality Marble_ cannot materialize in Nirn because of the barrier raised by the Dragon Fires.

\- Oh, I see... I can't call my _Reality Marble_ on Nirn.

The little reaction of the red hair teenager in front of this revelations stunned Merlin:

\- You have understood nothing of what I have tried to tell you... Nirn is a world where mortals can become gods. Arkay, god of the dead, or Talos were mortals until they performed actions that caused their Ascension! And, as I explained to you, a _Reality Marble_ is an Outer Kingdom. To create an Outer Kingdom is to claim a place among the Daedric Princes, O prince daedra Shiro Emiya master of the Infinite Forge! You are experiencing an Ascension that leads you to divinity! This means that you position yourself as a rival to the other Daedra princes. Most of them solve this by war and murder! They will never let you complete the creation of your _Reality Marble_. You've painted yourself a target on your back with, in big letters: "Please kill me!"

* * *

Shiro awoke and his eyes opened to fix the tent cloth above him. His heart was beating too fast. He swallowed, fighting the urge to vomit. A violent migraine surrounded his temples and a ghost voice whispered in his ears:

_I ha... creat... over... blades  
...a world  
... other_

He tried to straighten himself and his effort was interrupted by a grunt. Two white arms strengthened their grip around his shoulders:

\- Shiro?

The young man turned to look at Saber's beautiful face. She had not yet opened her eyes. He had a tender smile:

\- All is well, keep sleeping.

Slowly, he tried to get rid of the embrace of his beloved but... other arms held him. He turned to the other side of the bed... to discover... Rin?

What... what happened yesterday?

For a moment his brain freezes too stunned to comprehend then... he remembered... ah... yes... You could do a lot in a threesome and they've done a lot of experiments. No wonder he felt so tired.

* * *

The year 3E 418 was in its final weeks. The month of Morningstar (December) had just begun.

Usually merciful, around the Illiac Bay, winter had fallen on the Duchy of Phrygios with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. The temperatures were freezing, the slightest stream was frozen, and the snow-white trees were wearing ice pendants carved by a polar like winds.

This did not settle the affairs of the immense army which had gathered on the outskirts of the city of Dwynmen. Nearly 25,000 men were already camping on the spot and others were still coming: Daenia's Knights of the Dragon, Cambrian Halberd, Verandia Levees, Shornhelm militiamen, Boralis Freearchers, Phrygios Coustilliers, mercenaries.

They mingled in a camp that looked like a city, with its streets and squares, its temples, its supplies in all things.

Life was so well organized that there were Jeu de Paume (3) rooms, cabarets, and taverns, in fact, all that was necessary for the life of a troupe of this importance. One could even buy cloth or medicinal spices... Not to mention, of course, the prostitutes and the gambling houses so appreciated by the soldiers, whatever the world and the time.

The camp, of course, was fortified. Ditches and palisades lined with towers surrounded it on all sides, guarded by soldiers in chain mail and iron helmet, carrying halberds or crossbows.

In the center, isolated by its own palisade were elegant pavilions attributed to the nobles leading the vast expedition. Its purpose? Lifting the siege of Wayrest. However, it was nothing simple, especially in this season.

* * *

Dunore Grensley, Earl of Aldcroft, belonged to the aristocracy of Cambria. His family tree dates back to the Direnni Hegemony and the exploits of his ancestors at the Battle of Glenumbria. He led the coalition army because he was the nobleman of the highest rank to participate.

The man, a classic Breton, small, thin, with brown hair and blue eyes stared at the map of the Kingdom of Alcaire (also called the Kingdom of Islands).

His finger went to the port city of Koeglin:

\- Four months ago, the Orsinium army launched its first attacks on the Kingdom of the Islands. Luckily, Mordane Hawkstone, Baron of Koeglin, reacted with firmness, recruiting mercenaries, training a militia, surrounding his city with a rampart of wood and soil. For two months, his city has been effectively besieged by a strong goblin party. Another army - of orcs this time- is further west... probably fortifying the river Issen.

The Count of Merta struck the table with his hand:

\- Our problem is that my scouts claim that goblins are focusing on the capture of Koeglin. Not only would the loss of this one be tragic by itself, but it could then be held against us. We would be forced to retake it or risk seeing our communications cut off... depriving us of any supply.

His gaze turned to Saber, the latter directed the contingent of Verandia, with Estienne de Vignonne as a lieutenant.

\- Lady Pendragon, I would like you to take your troops on the ships I have arranged for in the port of Dwynmen. You will strengthen Baron Mordane's garrison.

Artoria remained for a few moments to fix the map and especially the Illiac Bay:  
\- With all due respect, my lord, can we count on an escort of warships? I want to remind you that the enemy has a fleet of ghosts ships and Redguard privateers. It would be unwise to risk us in hostile waters without any escort.

Dunore Grensley, Earl of Aldcroft, grimaced...

\- King Gothryd refuses to send his war fleet away from Daggerfall, probably fearing an attack. Nevertheless, enemy ships are occupied by the imperial fleet of Admiral Marcus Manfredi. You should pass without being noticed.

* * *

After the Battle of the Roc Noir, Admiral Marcus Manfredi was acclaimed by the crew of his ships. It only lasted for a while. The flight in front of the ghost ships had undermined that trust. Fate had also plagued them. Threatened by a storm, the ships had tried to anchor themselves. The only favorable place had been a small beach. A too-small beach, many ships suffered serious damage.  
Afterward, morale was even more affected. In the holds and in the enterprises, the storm had been lived as a sign of the wrath of the daedras, or of this new deity, that "Angra Mainyu" which was said to be the supreme spirit of evil.

Had he had time, Manfredi would have ordered a halt to repair what could be repaired. But thanks to the hidden lookouts along the coast, the admiral was aware that the enemy was on his heels. To add insult to injury, the strong winds that had damaged his fleet had turned out to be a localized phenomenon. Behind the horizon, the ghost ships felt nothing of it.

Pressed by time, Manfredi embarked the crews of the most affected galleys and scuttled them. However, this proved insufficient. As the armada finally entered the bay of Balfiera, the enemy fleet arrived in sight of the lookouts. His behavior turned out to be strange and erratic. Instead of rushing forward and seeking engagement, the ghost ships moved forward timidly.

Marcus Manfredi feared a new trap, and in fact, the route of the Imperial brought them to a delicate navigation region. The coast had a shredded appearance. Sandbanks adjoined with coastal arrows and tombolos. Further on, a large rocky island almost enclosed the steep point of a natural arch. In his approach window, the admiral could see the islets and needles surrounded by foam along the pass.  
The heart of the Imperial began to beat louder. In the irresolution of the enemy, he saw an opportunity to strike. His formation changed course and he abandoned the idea of circumventing the island to engage between it and the coast.

Against a faster opponent, we can no longer run. But we can fight, and where to do it with more chance of success than in this narrow channel? More numerous, enemy ships could not sail there properly.  
Thanks to the precise maps that the Direnni had offered them, the imperial galleys followed favorable currents and crossed the strait without mishap. For his part, the Great Necromancer at the head of the ghost fleet had reacted more quickly than his hesitations might have led him to believe. He split his armada in two. The wrecks with the crew of the undead who formed the bulk of his forces took a position facing the channel, while the light naves of the Dragonstar privateers bypassed the island all sails out.

If the movement was predictable, the Necromancer had done it masterfully. While the first imperial ships were going out into the open sea, the Redguards galleys were already gathering for the kill.  
Playing smart, Marco Manfredi had just lost. The necromancer's «hesitation» proved to be a clever feint. Without losing his mind to swearing the Cyrodiliic admiral quickly improvised a parade. The situation was not desperate. The goal of the Redguard privateers was probably to close the channel before they came out. However, there were still a few minutes before their ships were on them. Relaying his orders by optical telegraph, Admiral Manfredi quickly gathered his boats in a loose line. This formation left wide gaps through which the enemy could infiltrate. Nevertheless, it also forced it to spread its formation. That way he couldn't get around the wing.

For nearly an hour, the fleets maneuvered by strengthening their devices. Finally, the mangoners and the ballistae began to fire. Sheaves of water surrounded the galleys of both camps launched with all the force of their oars. From maneuvering, the battle turned into a fierce body. The powerful galleass of the Tamriel Empire supported the enemy's offensive.

The battle quickly became furious. Everywhere, ships were sinking or collided. As many as three or four boats could cluster together. Strange islands of violence were born in the midst of the burning wrecks. Little by little, the presence of the heavy imperial naves tipped the commitment in their favor.  
But they were fighting somewhere else.

The situation in the strait was completely different. The ghost ships in pursuit of the Imperials caught up with the fleeing galleys and sank them one by one.

Finally out into the open water, the ships with crews of skeletons, ghosts and zombies attacked the imperial fleet. The galleass, taken in reverse, could counter-attack only in isolation. These floating fortresses may have been clad with steel plates that protected them perfectly, only their crews remained vulnerable. Methodically, the undead shot the mats with catapult balls. Then the lichs used their most destructive spells to reap everything that stood on the bridges. Stunned by these shots, the galleys were finished with incendiary projectiles.

Wounded from the beginning of the battle by an arrow lodged in his shoulder, Marcus Manfredi saw the sails of his ship ignite. On the brink of fainting, he did not even react when two officers pulled him to the gangway. A quick galley had landed. After boarding him, his men took him to the ship's doctor.  
As the nave receded, through its windows the admiral saw a spectacle that broke his heart.

Apart from a few distant and leaking ships like his, his fleet was nothing but burning wrecks. The defeat was bitter. If the enemy had surpassed him by the number, it was far more painful for him to admit that he had also done so by tactics.

The sea was scarlet, red from the flames of the fire.

As the doctor tore his shirt to operate, tears of shame ran down his cheeks. His fleet was no more and he had now to warn the Emperor.

* * *

From the quays of the town of Koeglin, the main port of Alcaire, one could witness a show of great beauty. The winter sun lit a multitude of burning torches on the Illiac Bay, as a flight of phoenix landed on the waters...

The truth, alas, had nothing so poetic. They were burning ships!

The merchant ships commandeered by the Count of Aldcroft were burning, under the flaming arrows drawn by the galleys of the privateers of Dragonstar. Verandia's soldiers carried by the merchant ships could do nothing but jump into the icy water to escape the flames and cling to the wrecks.

Those who survived the cold bite of the water drifted to the coast, often far from Koeglin. They were not saved. Contingents of orcs in heavy armor and goblins wolf-riders patrolled the shore in search of survivors.  
Only a handful of ships escaped this terrible fate by following _Dame Marine_, a heavy belly carrack. All the privateers who approached this ship experienced the same fate:

\- **Strike Air!**

In the bow of the ship, Saber was handling **The Sword of the Wind King**, the compressed air sheath surrounding Excalibur. Released in the form of a cone of swirling air, the **Barrier of the Wind King** struck any galley approaching, tearing up its sails, and lifting seas that broke its borders. Reduced to wreck, it then crashed into the waves.

Soon there was no one to risk himself near this carrack. Dragging behind her the last survivors of the reinforcement fleet, she reached the docks of Koeglin.

It was there that Artoria Pendragon, Rin Tohsaka, Shiro Emiya, Estienne de Vignonne, and Gonderic de Bel Amant touched earth in the company of a hundred soldiers. They were expected to:

\- Ah, Your Majesty, I was beginning to wonder whether I had the wrong day.

Saber blinked her eyes... for once out of words:

\- Merlin?

With his fingers gathered in V, he took a pose that would already be ridiculous in a Japanese high school girl imitating an "idol" of jap pop.

\- The most charming of the _bishonen_ is there to make everything right.

* * *

(1) Events at the beginning of TES IV: Oblivion.

(2) To simplify, a _Marble Phantasm_ is like a _Reality Marble_ except that it does not violate the order of nature, so it is not eroded by Gaia.

(3) The ancestor of tennis.

* * *

**Note from the author: The naval battle of the island of Balfiera is freely inspired by one of the most famous battles of antiquity. I want to talk about Salamis. The fleet of the Tamriel Empire plays the role of the Persians. Necromancers and Dragonstar privateers playing the Greeks.**

**Ah and I have stopped the verses of the spell of invocation of the Unlimited Blade Work (version Fate/ Dragoncrown):**

I'm the bone of my sword

Steel is my body and fire is my blood

I have created over a thousand blades

From a world

To another

Withstood pain to create weapons, for the sake of one

I have no regrets. This is the only path.

For her, my whole life is Unlimited Blade Works.

**You will unfortunately still have a long time to wait before Shiro can use his Noble Phantasm. Ah, the "her" of course refers to Artoria Pendragon. "For the sake of one"... Shiro is a bit monomaniac. Whether it is about saving a woman (Saber, Sakura) or becoming a Hero of Justice, he is ready to sacrifice himself without regret... but it is Shiro...**


	23. Chapter 23 Blood and Snow

**Sawtooth44: I never say **_**Marble Phantasm**_** and **_**Reality Marble**_** are identical. I say " To simplify, a **_**Marble Phantasm**_** is like a **_**Reality Marble**_** except that it does not violate the order of nature, so it is not eroded by Gaia." ****There are many other different and since the **_**Marble Phantasm**_** does not use the "shortcuts" of the **_**Reality Marble**_** (the violations of the natural order that cause its erosion by Gaia) it can only be created by entities much more powerful than mortals or Death Apostles... like True Ancestors or gods, which explains why they're a hundred times rarer than the **_**Reality Marbles**_**.**

* * *

**Blood and Snow**

* * *

Chaos reigned over the port of Koeglin. As snowflakes danced in the setting sun, the snow piled up in the streets melted under streams of blood, amidst the corpses and smoke rising from burning houses. Wild cries, the clash of arms, and orders of officers seeking to reorganize the failed militia were heard. Goblins had appeared, killing, slaughtering the non-combatants, throwing themselves en masse at the guards present. With the effect of surprise, they had killed more than one.

Tristane Gaerwyth was an ordinary militiaman. A few months ago, he was still working on the harbor as a worker in a shipyard. His ambitions were limited to hoping to be noticed by a master carpenter and become journeyman carpenter... and thus have a better salary. Instead, he found himself dressed in bad cloth armor, a Chapel-de-fer on his head with a short sword of steel and a wooden shield marked with the city's arms to stand guard at the end of a wharf.

Damn goblins...

And still, Tristane felt lucky. He returned from a turn on the wooden wall that surrounded the city. At least on the docks, all we had to worry about was the cold and not another attack from those horrible little green monsters. At least that's what he thought.

And then, they had swept... without warning from the ramparts, they had spread into the streets of the harbor, attacking the inhabitants and the guards.

Tristane swallowed, raising his shield high. His two comrades, at his side, imitated his posture. One of them had a war axe, and the other had the same rudimentary sword as Tristane, mass-produced by the Koeglin ironworks to equip the militiamen.

The Goblins arrived, a dozen of them... dirty, dressed in filthy rags. The first of them held a rusty sword and a circular shield. Its "armor" was made of the bones of a creature's ribcage. He wore a leather cap from which came long pointed ears that recalled the elven origin of these ugly creatures. It is hard to believe that goblins were counted among the faeries when seen closely. The little monster began to giggle, discovering a mouth filled with chipped and yellowed fangs. His sharp and scratched voice sounded sinister:

\- _Ai! Pushdul! Hoshum bagronk!_

What he had just said must have been very witty because these companions laughed in turn, folding their immense orange eyes.

\- _Gork!_

The goblin who had just spoken held coarse scimitar, a circular shield made of loose boards and covered with a clumsy red paint drawing. Without armor, he was just wearing a leather loincloth, and strips of fabric around his hands and feet. His shoulders were covered by a mitted wolf quasi-nudity that allowed his clan tattoos to be discerned.

\- _Hïa! Hïa!_

A third mockingly approved. He was wearing armor made of pieces of iron badly forged and pitted by corrosion: a plastron, a helmet with visor. He used a cyrodilic steel shield and an axe of the same metal, which also had to come from looting.

Tall as 12-year-old children, scary thin, they weren't very impressive. Nevertheless, those who underestimated goblins bitterly regretted it. Admittedly, a goblin alone was not a threat to an adult man even if rudimentary armed... but where one of these little monsters was seen, there were ten, a hundred or even a thousand nearby. Nor should we delude ourselves about their apparent fragility. In fact, these little horrors were surprisingly strong for their size, more than a grown man.

\- _Ya harri hoï!_

On this statement, the goblins rushed forward. Though cowards, like all bullies, they found their courage in numbers... and so they had great courage when they were four against one.

Immediately, Tristane's universe became a whirlwind of scarlet violence. It was necessary to strike, counter, taking care not to break the line with his two companions. Better organized, the humans broke the first assault. The goblins retreated, leaving four of their own on the ground... one of them still lived and whimpered pitifully. As he sought to crawl to his allies, one of the guards finished him. This earned a concert of furious cries from the surviving goblins that reorganized themselves a few tens of meters away. Tristane turned to his neighbor:

\- Why did you do that? They're even angrier now!

\- "_Hosh_" means entrails and "_bagronk_" torture chamber... given what they are preparing to hang us by the guts, or something like that, I have no intention of showing pity.

\- I see...

The three guards tightened their ranks. None of them were career soldiers, but this was their town and... they had nothing to hope for but a quick death in case of defeat, and only if they were lucky. It was not good to corner ordinary peoples; they could fight better than professionals.

The second assault was even more violent. Tristane smashed the skull of a first goblin; counter the attack of a second then counter-attack plunging his short blade right into his chest as he raised his club to strike. Alas, the militiaman had made a rookie mistake, sinking his sword too deeply. While he was trying to get the blade out, a monster with an axe struck him above the elbow. In horror, the young man saw his severed arm fall to the ground. By reflex, he gave a shield blow to his opponent, repelling him and knocking him down. The militiaman to his left finished him by hitting him in the head before he got up again. It was only at this moment that Tristane was overcome by pain, bringing him to his knees.

\- Talos... Khynn... Phynnaster... oh gods, give me strength!

The invocation to the Bretons gods (2) was to take effect because the surviving goblins lost themselves in terror:

\- _Sakai! Squail!_

His arm... as his companion stopped the bleeding by making a tourniquet with a strip of cloth torn from his coat-of-arm, Tristane stared at the corpse of the third guardsman... In fact, he must have considered himself lucky. He survived, not all of them did, and in addition... he looked at the tangled bodies of a dozen goblins. Yes, they had slaughtered their enemies.

It was at that moment that Tristane became aware of the noise behind him. Helped by his comrade, he straightened himself by wincing with pain. A ship had just docked. It was a trade carrack carrying the colors of the Duchy of Phrygios to its mainmast.

Men landed. Soldiers dressed in cloth armors or quilted gambesons. They wore the coat-of-arm of the duchy of Verandia. In the front, a very young woman, a teenager whose beauty made him forgets for a moment the pain of his severed arm.

She went bare-headed and her hair neatly knotted into a rolled-up mat in the back of her skull shimmering in the setting sun as if gold powder were covering them. Her delicate face was very pale, with a small mouth, a narrow chin. But what struck him above all were his eyes as bright as jewels. They roamed the scene, the goblins' corpses, the guard killed... and himself, stopping on his wound.  
\- Who... who are you? Return to your ship... the goblins have invaded the port.

The teenager nodded seriously, her breath condensing in a mist as she replied:

\- How did they cross the walls?

\- I... don't know. We didn't get any alarms... but you can't stay here, damsel.

The teenage girl threw a piece of her blue cape fully lined with white fur on her shoulder. Underneath, she was wearing the strangest armor that Tristane Gaerwyth has ever seen. Her plastron was made of embedded silver metal plates with a vegetal-inspired blue decorative pattern. She had gauntlets and a weird metal plate skirt. Below, the young beauty was dressed in a royal blue dress, wearing gold, on a white petticoat. She wore the set with the natural and elegance born of a long habit.

Opening a bag on her belt, she took out a small bottle of coarse glass filled with a pink liquid:

\- This is a major care potion. It will relieve the pain and stop the bleeding. Merlin, treat this soldier.

Confused, Tristane Gaerwyth turned to the magician. He was known in the city, staying here since the beginning of the siege. Without his help, Koeglin's defenders would certainly not have lasted as long. Extravagant, often unbearable because of his bad jokes; he did not accept the orders of anyone, not even of Baron Mordane, yet the lord of the place. However, the magician bowed immediately to the adolescent girl:

\- Right away, Your Majesty.

Surprised, the two guards of the Alcaire Kingdom... as well as the soldiers of Verandia turned to the young woman in armor. In spite of the firmness of her posture and the control she had of the slightest muscle of her face, her eyes narrowed somewhat, while she answered with a hint of a bad mood:  
\- Merlin, stop it!

She turned to Tristane:

\- I am Artoria Pendragon, knight of Menevia belonging to the Order of the Rose. I am the head of the relief army sent by the Duchy of Verandia. Don't listen to what that old fool says, I'm not king... not anymore, anyway.

As Merlin laughed discreetly, using his magic to regenerate Tristane's arm... Tristane enlarges his eyes, paralyzed with surprise, unable to speak. This did not prevent him from hearing the reply of the "old" fool:  
\- Oh... I'm just getting ahead of myself, Your Majesty. _Rex quodam, rex que futuram_... the king has reigned, the king will reign... you cannot fight your own legend, King Arthur.  
Exasperated, Artoria sighed... She knew there was no point in protesting. In fact, the more she protested, the more he teased her. After all, she knew him since childhood. It was not as if she were discovering today how much he loved to annoy her.

* * *

Fighters are not equal in battle.

When a warlord sends militiamen or levies to fight, he is already happy that one of them kills an opponent and survives the fight.

When the levies put on their armor for the first time, they are completely exhausted after only half an hour wearing it. And even a veteran can only fight for ten minutes in a row! (3)

From then on, a fighter capable of killing five opponents in a battle is undoubtedly the champion of his company. A man who kills ten is cited as an example in the entire army... and a man who kills twenty is acclaimed, ennoble, chosen as a bodyguard by a great lord.

So what about those who -like Cú Chulainn- can kill 20,000 enemies alone?! (4)

They are heroes... and, etymologically, heroes are demigods.

* * *

Saber rushed forward.

In her chest, her Dragon Core pulsated, flooding her with a flood of _mana_ that strengthened her bones and amplified her strength. She jumped into the middle of a group of goblins, her cape swirling around her, holding in her hands... nothing... or at least nothing they can see...

The humanoids sneered and attacked her all at the same time, thinking they were dealing with easy prey.

What followed was too fast for us to follow the confrontation... no, the massacre... the goblins literally fell back into pieces. Not one of the front-line fighters survived. The others stopped ... like chicks paralyzed by the deadly grace of the snake that had just crept into their nest.

Artoria had seen the bodies of the unarmed inhabitants lying in the streets, the looted houses, the isolated guards cut to pieces. Coming from a hard period, she knew how to be tough. Her invisible sword gave glimpses of a ghostly blue glow as she was running forward; the wind was blowing around Excalibur.

Dozens of goblins perished immediately and panic spread among the other assailants. However, not all enemies could feel fear. The quadruped monster that slid silently behind Artoria was not one of those who gave up. Covered with green scales, it was a large lizard of a kind quite close to the dog. At least if we forgot its crocodile jaw and its four red eyes... a durzog. These monsters were trained like war dogs by goblins.

The durzog jumped. It had perfectly judged its jump and would have landed on Saber's shoulders to put its fangs in her throat. Except it rolled on the ground with a pitiful squeak... cut in the air by a flock of arrows made of translucent _prana_.

Saber looked at the body and then turned her eyes to the thatched roof of a poor house, hundreds of meters away. A silhouette in black leather, dressed in a scarlet hooded coat, lowered a black bow. She raised her sword to Shiro's address and resumed her bloody course among the goblins.

* * *

As usual, Merlin did not resort to magic. He held in his hand a sword resembling a sister in Excalibur and handled it with the art of a master. At times, he pushed it into the ground, giving rise to a wave of golden light that burned all the opponents before him.

He was alone on the street, facing hundreds of goblins...

But they fled before him, filled with terror.

He whispered a few words and reached out.

Immediately, roots came out of the ground and immobilized the little monsters...  
\- Stay there, isn't it fun to play together?

As the goblins replied with terrified chirps, he sighed...

\- Nobody seems to like my company... except the F/GO players.

We heard a sound of broken glass...

\- Oops... I just smashed the Fourth Wall.

* * *

\- _Gandr!_

A rain of energy projectiles, black as ink but haloed with red, drifted in the middle of a street. These materialized curses had the destructive power of a revolver bullet. In the narrow street between two rows of huts with thatched roofs, the effect was devastating. Each shot killed or wounded a goblin.

A midget with green skin stepped forward. Considerably more muscular than his fellow soldiers, he wore steel armor to his size, but no weapon... if we excluded the cestus from his gauntlets. The "Knocker" threw hitself at Rin Tohsaka. By reflex, she dodged the first attack before whispering:

\- _Est ist großes, est ist kleines!_

Bright lines appeared on her legs. She leaped to the side and immediately rushed forward. Her opponent attacked her with his bare hands? She was going to give him this pleasure. Thanks to _Reinforcement_, she was now stronger and more agile than him. The palm of her hand struck him in his chin. Then she knelt down in his stomach... and whirled over herself in a pounding kick that catapulted the enemy into a cluster of goblins that arrived as reinforcements.

\- Watch out!

A kite shield interposed to stop a coarse arrow feathered with raven feathers. There, the bowman goblin suddenly held his chest and collapsed... stiff dead!

The mirror-shield of Gonderic of Bel-Amant returned the enemies' intention of killing against them, returning to them the damage they wanted to deal. The armor was given to him by a fairy knight.  
Passing in front of Rin, a colossus in armor of black plates rushed towards the green skins. He wielded a great ebonite sword, and flames ran over it. Estienne de Vignonne was not regarded without reason as the most powerful man of war in all of Verandia. With a logger shout, he smashed shields and armor. Around him, the goblins caught fire.

An enemy elite sought to stop him. In armor of steel, he carried to one arm a large shield and a silver club in the other hand. Heavily framed for his species, it was a "Berserker".

Estienne laughed at this challenge... He loved to fight and the term "Berserker" probably suited him better than the goblin in front of him.

The clash between the two fighters resounded all over the street. The soldiers of Verandia cheered Estienne Vignonne while the goblins supported their champion... only, the Berserker tore himself from the ground before hitting a wall and sliding to the ground unable to stand up.

\- Come on, you bitches, I'll take you all at once!

* * *

The Free Archers and militiamen of Verandia, some two hundred survivors, met with very little opposition. It must be said that they only had to clean the resistance nests left behind by their vanguard. Only six people... but together they were worth an army.

Kneeling in the trampled snow, Merlin nodded before dusting himself. He turned to Artoria, who was standing patiently behind him, with both hands crossed on Excalibur's invisible knob planted in front of her.

\- Your Majesty, the signs on the ground are blurred, goblins have trampled the docks in small groups in all directions. However, most of them came from the east.

Saber sighed without seeking to take back Merlin who continued to call her "Your Majesty... if only he had been so respectful back in Camelot!

The cleaning of the harbor was completed where it had begun, on the pier from where they had landed. Shiro jumped to the ground near Artoria who stared at him. The blacksmith with amber eyes nodded:  
\- Our men have just taken back the lighthouse, the port is ours.

He did not indicate that his arrows had contributed significantly to the failure of the goblins that had dug in at the west end of the harbor. Shiro never bragged about what he was doing. In his heart... since the fire of Fuyuki, he tortured himself to have survived while the others had perished, devoting himself to saving perfect strangers in compensation for the "crime" of being alive.

Rin, Gonderic and Estienne also returned to them. Given the satisfied air of Baron de Vignonne, the fighting was also to be completed in this part of the city.

The twin-tailed _Magus_ then presented a grated man wearing leather armor that accompanied them:  
\- Saber, let me introduce Master Gaston Fontenot, master of the port of Koeglin. Master Fontenot, allow me to introduce you to the commander of the reinforcement army, Knight Artoria Pendragon.  
Saber greeted with a royal nod:

\- My Goodman Fontenot.

Gaston Fontenot looked at her strangely, disturbed by her youth, her gender, her beauty and above all... he looked at the Baron de Vignonne. The man was famous throughout High-Rock as the best war man in the duchy of Verandia... and he had the rank of baron. As for Gonderic de Bel-Amant, his father was the new duke... Why was a simple knight commanding the reinforcement army? However, he preferred not to express his doubts. First, he owed his life to the arrival of the soldiers of Verandia. Then... afterwards, he felt strangely impressed by this teenage girl who had to be younger than his own daughter.

\- Lady Pendragon, in my own name and that of all the inhabitants of the city, allow me to express my thanks for your timely arrival.

Saber replied with a vague gesture of the hand:

\- Think neither of it; it is my duty as a knight to help you. More importantly, now that the docks are secure, we need to organize the unloading of the supplies we bring.

\- I'll take care of it, Lady Pendragon. For distribution, you have to go to Baron Mordane. He lives in a mansion downtown.

\- Good. However, we must first find out how goblins entered the city. According to the guards, the walls were not crossed.

Shiro intervened:

\- I confirm. During the battle, I could see that the ramparts were attacked, but the defenders repelled the assault.

An arm on her stomach, with her fist in front of her lips, Rin suddenly seemed absorbed by deep reflections. Artoria looked at her with interest:

\- Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

\- A diversion?

Estienne de Vignonne approved:

\- I see... rather well thought out. They attacked the ramparts to attract the defenders and during this time they appeared on the port... but how? A tunnel?

Merlin listened and repeated what he had just said to Artoria before they arrived:

\- In any case, they came from the east of the port.

He designated this direction and the master of the port shook:

\- The smugglers' cave...

As the other participants of the impromptu conference turned to him with interrogatives stares, Gaston Fontenot explained:

\- At the time of Baron Mordane's father, smugglers were rampant in the city. They had dug a tunnel linking natural caves in the cliffs east of Koeglin outside the _octroi_ barrier (5). The tunnel has been undiged but the caves still exist. The entrance is under a large warehouse to the east of the port. The goblins have probably reopened this passage.

* * *

The last goblins were entrenched into the smugglers' former warehouse. They had erected a barricade of barrels and crates. As soon as Artoria and her companions approached, a rain of arrows welcomed them... Clearly, goblins still had confidence in their ability to win the battle.  
It was not usual in these creatures. At best, we could call them unstable... at worst cowards. But wasn't the whole situation abnormal? Goblins were always at war with each other. Every tribe hating their neighbors and trying to grab their totems! An alliance of several hundred clans, we had not seen this since the conquest of Hammerfell by the Redguards (driven by a cataclysm of the Ra'Gada archipelago)... in the ninth century of the First Era, millennia earlier. And at the time, it took an avatar of the god Malooc (6) to unite them.

Besides, goblins were considered stupid. Digging a tunnel and using a diversion to drive away the defenders, it seemed too sophisticated for these creatures more accustomed to attacking head-on screaming.  
As Verandia's soldiers advanced protected by their shields, several goblins threw glass vials at the attackers. There was an explosion of flame as they broke in contact.

Rin began to swear as the burned soldiers retreated into panic:

\- Intense fire oil! It is a rare and expensive alchemy potion... each flask is worth a hundred septims. How can they have such expensive equipment?!

Yet another absurdity! Artoria shook her head. For now, it was not the most important. She strengthens her hands on the handle of her invisible sword. All around her, the wind began to blow in a storm, lowering the atmospheric pressure. An instant later, she disappeared... leaving behind only an after-image... two others appeared slashing goblins on the barricade... then it shattered as she resumed substance near the breach she had just opened.

For an ordinary human, she had appeared to exist in four copies... it was an optical illusion caused by the **Wind King's Slash**, one of her favorite fighting techniques.

* * *

Mordane Hawkstone, Earl of Koeglin was a young man just over twenty years old. Blond with emerald eyes, it looked a little older (and masculine) version of Artoria. His office, much more than his physical appearance, gave a good idea of who he was.

The sheltered walls left no space other than the fireplace and the location of a picture depicting the harbor. Everywhere else books and curiosities of very different origins lined up. The work table was covered by a compulsively annotated city plan. He was kept open by his sword and other books devoted to strategy. Among them, Rin recognized Zurin Arctus's "Art of War Magic". A pile of reports on parchment awaited his signature.

A dummy in an angle supported beautiful plate armor. And, in view of the numerous scratches that were waiting to be repaired, the baron had to participate actively in the defense of the ramparts.  
Mordane Hawkstone was a warrior, tactician, gifted organizer, and scholar. The resistance to the goblin horde in the past four months was largely explained by the presence of this charismatic leader in Koeglin.

For now, he listened to Artoria, with his chin on his crossed hands and his elbows on his table:  
\- ... we then liquidated the goblins still present in the caves. There, we discovered that the tunnel had collapsed.  
\- Not surprisingly, Mordane said, goblin miners are unable to do a neat job. Maybe they even neglected to support the passage.

Artoria nodded:

\- That is also my conclusion, My Lord.

Mordane turned to a statuette depicting Talos in chainmail, wearing a winged helmet. With a sword in his hand, he struck down a snake and trampled it under his feet.

\- Praised be the gods, without the collapse of the tunnel and your arrival Koeglin would have fallen. However, despite your help, Lady Pendragon, I am even more worried than yesterday. I share your analysis of the organization and equipment of goblins. Only you neglected a point... digging this tunnel must have taken days and required knowledge of the local history that most of Koeglin inhabitants did not have.

Next to Artoria, Tohsaka nodded:

\- Organization and intelligence, this is similar to what we have discovered...

As Mordane glanced at her, the young _Magus_ seemed surprised:

\- Oh, I spoke out loud?! Shiro, show him what you found.

The archer dressed in red placed charred vellum on the table. Like all Bretons, Mordane had a particularly developed magical sense and he identified a _prana_ residue in the paper:

\- A spell scroll?

\- Yes, my lord, we found it on the goblin leader who was leading the assault on the port.

\- I will have my wife analyze it.

\- Needless to say, my lord, I know a spell called _Structural Analysis_. It is a _Recall_'s scroll  
The baron of Koeglin frowned. He had never heard of this spell:

\- _Recall_?

It was Rin Tohsaka who resumed the conversation from this point:

\- It is a form of teleportation invented by the _Magi _of the house telvanni in Morrowind, magic typical of the Dark Elves. It requires the use of two spells. The first, _Mark_, affixes a pentacle of reception on the floor. It is enough for the mage to pronounce the spell of _Recall_ to be sent back to the last _Mark_ he traced.

Mordane Hawkstone thought fast and well:

\- Have you found the _Mark_ that matches this scroll?

Rin approved of a chin movement:

\- The scroll is synchronized to a pentacle in the largest cave in the smugglers' lair.

\- Only a resident of Koeglin may have informed the goblins about the existence of the undiged tunnel and only a mage living within these walls may have traced this _Mark_. There's a traitor here! A Dark Elf...  
Rin cut off the lord of Koeglin, regardless of his rank:

\- Not necessarily, baron, I am Breton and I know this spell.

Pulling on her collar, she grabs a medallion decorated with a complex pentacle:

\- I created this amulet by experimenting on telvanni magic, it allows me to use a _Recall _spell that would take me back to my house in Torrent... if I still had a house in Torrent.

Tohsaka face clouds over. After Archer left the city to participate in the defense of Wayrest, the orcs had renewed their assaults and finally took Torrent. Once again, she had lost her laboratory, her gems... and all her possessions! For a woman as stingy as Rin, it was a real personal injury!

Fortunately, Sakura had fled to Wayrest with Archer and Archer had promised to look after her little sister.  
Mordane shook his head:

\- But there is a dunmer mage in town!

The baron began to search a pile of scrolls:

\- Ah, there you are! The mercenaries of the _Iron Ring Company_, I recruited them to reinforce the garrison of Koeglin three months ago. There's a Dark Elf mage among them, his name is Erebel R'en.  
\- Erebel R'en? I remember seeing a wanted poster out for him. He has a bounty on his head for many crimes: grave violations, necromancy (7), and heresy... that kind of thing.

As Baron Mordane turned to Shiro who had just spoken, the redhead _Magus_ scratched his neck with an embarrassed look:

\- I was born in Morrowind, my father was head of the imperial garrison at Fort Moth, near Balmora. I often looked at wanted criminals' posters so I could recognize them. I could not let them continue to plague.  
\- Okay! That confirms my suspicions.

Mordane shook a bell and a servant entered. While he was giving him his instructions, Rin expressed her bad mood. With her arms crossed, her forehead wrinkled with anger, she turned to Artoria:

\- Saber, I really wonder what we are doing here!

The King of the Knights and Shiro shivered and glanced at the baron of Koeglin. Mordane Hawkstone had just stiffened himself, forgetting the instructions he gave to turn to the _Magus_ with a shocked expression. Rin had the gift - not really blessed by the gods - of saying what she should not at the worst possible moment.

Without paying attention to the mixture of surprise and discomfort of her friends, Tohsaka lifted a finger as she used to when she was teaching a lecture:

\- Hundreds of men have already been sacrificed for a small town of no importance.

Shiro was the first to react:

\- There are still hundreds of non-combatants in the city.

She replied with a scornful sniff, turning her head aside:

\- They could evacuate, and we are not going to take by hand people who prefer their small house to the safety of their families. I gave up everything to save my sister.

Finally, Mordane had enough:

\- You are not saving my city; you are saving the port's warehouses!

Rin seemed a moment surprised by the Baron's repartee. Taken in her thoughts, she had completely forgotten his presence. She winked at his visible anger:

\- I don't understand... warehouses?

Artoria bowed to Baron Mordane:

\- I beg your pardon for my friend's behavior. Sometimes she speaks too loudly, is stingy, manipulative or bossy.

Rin opened her mouth but remained like a fish out of the water... shocked in turn by Saber's response. However, the _Magus_ blushed and looked down... realizing that she had literally said that Baron's city did not deserve to be rescued. In fact, she had just denigrated the entire young baron's work in defense of Koeglin, as had all his predecessors done to build and embellish it.

Mordane Hawkstone sighed, his anger vanishing...

\- At least she's saying out loud what the other think... I knew you weren't coming to save my people. Since the beginning of the siege, the only "help" I received was a cargo of wood to build the palisade. And I paid it right down to the bottom.

As Rin remained confused and blushing, it was Shiro who put an end to this moment of embarrassment:  
\- Why do you say that the Relief Army only wants to save the warehouses?

Artoria replied in place of the baron:

\- Docks, dockers, and unloading hoists in fact. Koeglin is necessary for the supply of the army. In wartime, 60% of the state budget is invested in the supply of fresh steeds for knights, food for combatants, replacement of armor, arrows, spears, shields, and fortifications damaged by the enemy. Also, a wise warlord uses to live on the enemy. It is said that one measure of wheat taken from the silos of the enemy is worth twenty of its own carried from the rear.

\- Twenty?

Shiro seemed surprised. Certainly, he understood that the food taken from the enemy could weaken the latter as much as it fed his camp. However, the proportion seemed to him exaggerated. Only, Artoria strongly approved:

\- Twenty times now! To get food to the front line, you need carts, crews, and an escort who in turn consume some of the food they're supposed to carry. These men, these wagons and the horses that pull them are diverted from more useful tasks. This, in turn, slows down the work of the fields. That is why, in times of war, it is not uncommon for the peasants to know the shortage. All this can be saved by going by sea. A carrack can transport the equivalent of a caravan of a hundred mules and all this in a tenth of the time taken by road. And here we are only talking about food. In a single year of war, a country can spend ten years of the revenue! I mentioned the manufacture and repair of halberds, spears, projectiles of bows and crossbows, but it is necessary to add the mangonels, the trebuchets and the stones that they send. For an army of ten thousand men, the repair and maintenance of military equipment cost a thousand iron ingots.

Shiro frowned. He was a blacksmith after all:

\- A thousand iron ingots? Per week?

Saber shook her head:

\- Every _day_!

As he was swallowing, she continued:

\- This requires the employment of thousands of miners and foundry workers. What they produce, we must lead it to the men who will use it. So you have to maintain the roads, repair the bridges. For a man who fights, it takes ten workings to arm and feeds him.

Mordane, who had finished giving his instructions to his servant, joined the conversation:

\- And this is for war in summer. Shiro Emiya, do you know why we say that we should not make war in winter?

The reincarnated Japanese knew war only through the films and books of his world of origin... where war was made in all seasons. He never really understood why we were saying that.

\- Um... because it's cold?

Baron Mordane Hawkstone stared at the young man and then began to laugh. Next to him, Artoria sigh before shaking her head with fatalism:

\- Idiot... Do you really think generals care about the comfort of their men? Armor is much more unpleasant to wear in the summer. They keep it warm... When the sun strikes upon the armor, one boils in its sweat, one dehydrates, and I have often seen fit knights faint in the middle of the battle because of a sunstroke. Yet not a war leader has ever proposed to ban war in the summer.

The Lord of Koeglin, having recovered from his laughter crisis, gave the correct answer:

\- Horses graze at the bivouac. But domestic horses do not know how to scrape snow to find grass. In winter, therefore, it is necessary to buy and transport fodder for the horsemen's steeds, but also for all the horses of the quartermaster that pull the carts of supplies. This therefore requires more stewardship carts... so more horses in turn consume more feed, an irresoluble problem. And here lies the superiority of the orcs... They eat the horses, they don't ride them! So they can make war in winter!  
Shiro may have been slow, but he wasn't stupid:

\- That is why the Relief Army needs the port of Koeglin, because the transport carrack allow us to use fewer supply carts.

\- So here you are, Artoria and Mordane concluded at the same time. As for Rin, she simply looked to the ceiling.

* * *

(1) Talos is not a Breton god, but he is very popular in the kingdom of Alcaire. According to legend, Talos learned the art of the sword from the masters of the city of Alcaire while he was still only the mortal Hjalti Early-Beard, long before being consecrated emperor of Tamriel under the name of Tiber Septim.  
(2) It must be said that if the "light" armor which equips raised and militiamen already weigh twenty kilos, the complete equipment of a professional soldier (complete chainmail with coat-of-arm, plastron, and helmet, shield, wide sword) can reach 35 kilos! During re-enactments, it took ten minutes of simulated confrontation for a man to find himself out of breath. This is why the antique (and certainly medieval) armies had a system to replace the exhausted and wounded soldiers of the first ranks with those of the last ranks. A kind of waterwheel that allowed the fighters to take turns resting.  
(3) I don't just read Fate's Wiki pages to tell the past exploits of heroes. I did some research on Cú (in particular, I read the _Táin Bó Cúailnge_). I came across a passionate person who wrote a page on the Internet. The battle of the plain of Murthemme took place in a place still perfectly-identified and the legend says that Cú covered it with three thicknesses of corpses. The enthusiast in question measured the terrain, estimated how many bodies formed a layer and multiplied by three... the result? 20,000 dead! Even if we consider this figure as a maximum, the result remains impressive all the more since the army of the four kingdoms of Ireland reunited by Queen Mebd faced a "army" of a single Ulate: Cú Chulainn.

(4) _Octroi _is a kind of custom paid at the entrance of the cities. The barriers are walls surrounding the cities, pierced by some doors guarded by guards. Unlike real walls designed to stop invaders, barriers are only used to force travelers to pass through the doors where they are searched and interrogated. Most of the time, they are simple walls without a walkway or battlements.

(5) The goblin god Molooc is better known by the name under which the orcs worship him: Malacath.  
(6) Clarification: necromancy is not illegal in the Empire except in the province of Morrowind, because it is prohibited by the cult of the Tribunal Temple (the local religion). It should be noted that the Guild of the Magi of Tamriel forbids the practice of necromancy, but this is an administrative ban... at worst, we risk exclusion.


	24. Special

**Victorsan12345: actually Marbles Phantasms are canonically 100 times rarer than a Reality Marbles. Only True Elemental Entity and True Ancestor can use it. As the user is a part of nature, it can change the world at will BUT only within the limited scope of nature (no violation of the natural order). Marbles Phantasms are a more efficient modification of reality than Reality Marbles. Reality Marbles can only change ONE aspect of reality (UBW is only a desert with swords) but the interior of a Marble Phantasm is connected to the will of its creator (The Marble Phantasm of Arcueid Brunestud materializes in the form of wind blades, an ocean of chains or a magnificent castle... In **_**Melty Blood**_**, she even uses it to bring (temporarily) Night of Wallachia back to its state of "mere vampire" as it was before its rise to the rank of Death Apostle Ancestor).**

* * *

**Special**

* * *

This is not a chapter, but an attempt to answer all the questions I received in French and English. I have personally replied, either by PM or at the beginning of each chapter, but some remarks have come up several times.

I also want to apologize for not writing a chapter last week, but I started a new series. The beginning of a new series requires more work than the continuation of a text that has exceeded twenty chapters and I did not find time to work on** Fate/ Dragoncrown.**

**To start, let's go around the characters of the series:**

**FATE/ STAY NIGHT****: **

**Masters:**

**Shiro Emiya:**

The Shiro Emiya of **Fate/Dragoncrown** was sent to the Universe of **Elders** **Scrolls** because of the wish he and Saber make at the end of the Fate/Stay Night road. However, although he seems to be 17 years old, he is in fact 34 years old (he was reincarnated seventeen years ago). Because of this, and because of the hardships he has endured since his arrival on Tamriel, he is much more mature than the F/SN Shiro.

Since the age of eight, he has been trained in the art of arms handling by the Blades (the bodyguards of the Emperor of Tamriel) and magic by the Guild Magi.

It also has the advantage of having intact Magic Circuits that it controls perfectly.

At the moment it does not perfectly control Unlimited Blade Work and cannot materialize its Noble Phantasm because of the barrier that surrounds the world of Nirn, keeping the Daedras away.

Shiro stored in UBW all the NP he saw used during the 5th Grail War. Among others: Caliburn, Excalibur (which he cannot use), Avalon, the stone sword of Berserker, Gae Bolg, Rule Breaker, Kanshou and Bakuya... as well as all the weapons used by Gilgamesh in front of him (at least one hundred different Nps including Dáinsleif, Durandal, Gram, Harp, Houtengenki... as well as nameless NP like the dagger Gilgamesh uses to freeze Saber's arm during their first fight). Let us note nevertheless that Shiro remains unable to copy divine constructions like Ëa and Vajra... as the artifacts of the Daedras princes.

Recently, Saber had the idea to show Shiro the Noble Phantasms that she sees during her life as during the previous Grail War. He added Gyllellfawr to his collection. During the months that have since passed, Saber has shown many other NP to Shirou: her two shields, her spear, her dagger as well as the weapons of her knights like Excalibur Galatine, Arondight... But also the weapons of her opponents like the two spears of Diarmuid.

If we add all the ordinary or magic weapons that Shiro has placed in UBW since his arrival on Nirn his arsenal is not inferior to the Shiro of F/ SN: Unlimited Blade Work... and he spent years training with them  
Shiro's personality has not fundamentally changed. He is always a boy too nice, always ready to help and to fly to the rescue of the last person who asks for it... even if it means taking crazy risks. However, his primary goal is to stay with Saber and make her happy.

The strangest development of this character, once on Nirn, is that his ability to materialize around him his inner universe qualifies him as... daedric prince.

Do not doubt that this will lead to interesting developments later on because a Daedra prince is a god! And yes, Shiro is on the way to Apotheosis.

**Rin Tohsaka:**

Shiro's wish (to offer a second chance to all the victims of the Grail War) reincarnated Rin on Nirn. She was born into a family of wealthy merchants from Torrent in the Kingdom of Menevi. Sakura Matou was born a year later into the same family.

The two sisters embarked on the study of magic as practiced on Nirn and the elder quickly excelled there. The tradition of the Guild of the Magi that a new Mage can register under the name of his choice: Rin registered as "Rin Tohsaka", she had until then a normal Breton name.

You may have noticed that Rin uses runic magic a lot. Her knowledge of it is canonical; the _Gandr sho_t is - after all- a runic curse. But on Earth, runic magic was greatly weakened by the end of the Age of the Gods. It is also a survival of the system that existed before the creation of the Magic Circuits (yes, they are artificial). A magus of the earth is hardly affected by runic _Magecraft_. If he is under the influence of a spell, he simply activates is Magic Circuits. The flow of _prana_ will dissipate the effects of the spell. Except that on Nirn, the Age of the Gods did not end and the inhabitants do not have Magic Circuits, which makes the runes very effective.

The specific _Magecraft_ of the Tohsaka is the _Jewel Magecraft_. It is a matter of pouring a little blood on a gem to fill it with _prana_. The gems that have bathed in the bowels of the earth for thousands of years are close to the "spirits of nature". They can, therefore, be used as "prisons that stop time". Or to put it more clearly, it is a question of transforming precious stones into batteries to power powerful spells.

In spite of the efficiency of this _Magecraft_, it is expensive magic because every precious stone falls into dust after one use!

However, on Nirn, Rin discovered that the magi were making magical objects or feeding permanent spells with _morpholiths_. These are crystals belonging to different subfamilies; the most common are Soul Gems. These are spiritual cells capable of capturing the soul of an animal or monster.  
Rin quickly understood that _morpholiths_ could replace gemstones because they are cheaper and easy to load (just capture the soul of a wolf). All houses of the Guild of Magi sell them and even the smaller ones (completely discharged by the _Jewel Magecraft_) can feed quite powerful spells. While the most powerful gems can be used to launch a Class A spell.

The combination of _Jewel Magecraft_ and m_orpholiths_ gave Rin the power of a Caster-class Servant.

**Sakura Matou/ Tohsaka :**

In her new life, Sakura was born as Rin's sister, which she was in the previous life, before being adopted by the Matou.

It should be noted that Rin still does not know what she suffered at the hands of Shinji and especially the "training" of Zouken.

Sakura has only made two brief appearances so far, but she will have an important role afterward.

**Shinji Matou:**

Shinji was finally able to fulfill his dream of becoming a real Magus. Only this did not improve his behavior. Born in Torrent like the Tohsaka sisters, he spent his childhood jealous of them... because he did not have the tenth of their talent. So he turned to Angra Mainyu who - we shall see how- gave him powerful necromantic powers. As in F/SN, Shinji is an opponent of the heroes of the series.

**Atrum Galliasta**:

Reincarnated into the family of the Duke of Verandia, Atrum murdered his brother and dedicated himself to Angra Mainyu, helping him spread disease and misery. Nevertheless, he remained a second-rate Magus. In this life as in the previous one, he is the first Master to perish.

**Other Masters:**

ALL masters of Fate/ Stay Night have been reincarnated (including Bazett Fraga Mcremitz- the original Master of Lancer).

**Servants:**

All the Servants have been reincarnated. Let us insist heavily on this point, they were born by the ordinary method, grew up and arrived after a while in adulthood. They have a body of flesh and blood... yet they have retained some Servants abilities.

And that's probably the hardest part of Fate/Dragoncrown.

Servants are part of the soul of a Heroic Spirit incarnated in a Container that maximizes some of their abilities but deprives them of others. Embodied in Saber, Artoria does not have its spear or the ability to use it. Embodied in Lancer, Cú Chulainn is deprived of his ability to embody knowledge... which is instead the heart of his incarnation as Caster.

The reincarnation of the Masters is a classic of the Isekai. It gives them additional abilities.

The Servants, it is more complicated. A Servant is not strictly speaking an individual, but an "incarnated legend". The Lancer of the Fifth Grail War is not Cú Chulainn, it is the _legend_ of Cú Chulainn _cropped _to make it enter the container "Lancer" and therefore deprived of all that did not fit.

Have you figured it out so far?

As legends, even physically incarnated, they remain Servants. They, therefore, have access to the abilities of their legend (as limited by their class).

There are two cases of figures, plus one exception (Saber):

1°) The Servant's Noble Phantasm is an innate ability. Summon the pegasus Bellerophon (Rider) God's hand (Berserker). In this case, the Servant reincarnated has the control of his NP at his birth... I pity the parents of "Baby-Berserker".

2°) The Noble Phantasm is an object. In this case, it was also sent to Nir, and the servant will have to find it to be able to use it. This is the case of Saber who was forced to look for Excalibur.

**Saber (Artoria Pendragon):**

As explained above, Servants are Heroic Spirits. That is dead heroes, who have been summoned from the Throne of Heroes in the form of a class that actually materializes only one aspect of them.

Except that Artoria is **NOT** a Heroic Spirit... she is not dead, and her soul has not been welcomed into the Throne of Heroes. She owes her ability to be invoked in the Grail Wars to a pact it made with the "world" (Gaia?). However, she does not have all the abilities of the other Servants. She cannot dematerialize herself, feels hunger and sleep.

So her reincarnation on Nirn is a special case.

Like the other Servants, she is limited by her class aspects. She does not have her lance, nor the ability to use it (although...).

However, her reincarnation made her more human than the other Servants. She has lost all the class abilities she had (such as magic's resistance and the innate ability to ride any nonsupernatural animal, or conduct planes and cars).

Saber reincarnated is weaker than the Servant Saber.

Reincarnated Artoria is less versatile than King Arthur.

And since she didn't have Excalibur in the first chapters, she suffered...

**EMIYA (Archer):**

Like Shiro, EMIYA cannot materialize its version of UBW because of the barrier that isolates Nirn. Nevertheless, it has its entire arsenal and other abilities (as well as the ability of the Archer class: "resistance to magic"). Once again having a body of flesh, he is weaker than the Servant Archer, needs to eat, to sleep and obviously can no longer dematerialize himself.

To tell you the truth, Archer is the character that embarrassed me the most. It embarrassed me so much that I even thought for a time not to add it to Nirn's world... with the excuse that it was a copy of Shiro!

I also imagined giving birth to him as Shiro's twin brother!

As fun as the idea is... Archer would have strangled his "brother" in the cradle.

Archer embarrassed me because I didn't know how to get him to act on Nirn.

So I spent some time thinking, putting myself in his place, while rereading the information about his abilities and his character.

And I realized he had no reason to hate Shiro in **Fate/Dragoncrown**. He finally left Alaya's slavery and thanks to Shiro, after all.

What are his goals?

He spent centuries fighting monsters and his most recent memories are fighting for Rin. Since his "Clairvoyance" ability allows him to predict the future (not with a 100% certainty) he joined his former Master to protect her from Angra Mainyu and fight this monster... EMIYA hardly loses the good (bad?) habits of playing the hero.

In the end, I gave Archer a major role... but a role that doesn't give him much opportunity to shine. EMIYA contains the army of Orc at Wayrest. Without him, Avenger would have already won the game.

**Other Servants:**

All the Servants that appear in F/SN are reincarnated including Sasaki Kojiro (Assassin) that we do not see in F/SN (the game) but that was indeed invoked by Caster in this route.

Merlin? Right now I won't answer any questions about him... I have my reasons.

**THE ELDERS SCROLLS :**

**Fate/Dragoncrown** is a crossover between **Fate/ Stay Night** (the game, not its adaptation in anime) and the game **The Elders Scrolls 2: Daggerfall**.

The characters of Fate are reincarnated in the world of TES and their presence (especially that of Angra Mainyu) radically changes the scenario of Daggerfall. In the game, a character called the Agent is sent to solve the enigma posed by the presence of the ghost of King Lysandus who haunts his former capital. Why does he shout "vengeance"?! He is supposed to have died heroically in a battle...  
The role of the Agent is more or less given to Shiro except... that the events of _Fate/Dragoncrown_ take place 14 years after the normal course of events of the Daggerfall's game... and that the cursed king has still not been delivered and that the Illiac Bay is literally the prey of a succession of disasters: wars, epidemics, assassinations, usurpations, even the dead who leave their graves... as if All the World Evil is at work.

* * *

**The following is a short story between chapters 23 and 24.**

**Discussion**

* * *

Rin Tohsaka looked at the white-haired man. Legends did not describe him like that... nor books.

Feeling fixed, he stood up with a little charming smile that irritated the young Magus:

\- What can I do for you, Miss Tohsaka?

\- So you are Merlin.

The magician's smile increased:

\- The only one, you want an autograph?

\- No!

The immediate and dry response seemed to hurt the magician who carried a hand to the heart. As he was about to embark on another of his ridiculous little games, Rin asked the question that had been burning her lips since Saber's former mentor had appeared on Koeglin's pier:

\- Why did you do that to Artoria?

Merlin looked for a moment at Rin, and gave up his playful air:

\- What do you mean?

The young Magus in red threw one of her twintail over her shoulder, and crossed her arms:

\- Why did you throw her like a piece of meat in the middle of this arena filled with mad dogs knows as "the Kingdom of Britain"... she was only fifteen years old! Getting Caliburn out of the stone had absolutely not prepared her to be alone all her life, without even being able to use her real name, hiding her gender.

\- That's what she wanted, replied Merlin calmly.

\- No, she wanted to save Britain. But that was never on the agenda, was it?

Merlin seemed surprised:

\- Why do you say that? I warned her that it would be difficult and that she should sacrifice her humanity...  
\- Yes, and _because she sacrificed her humanity because King Arthur did not understand her knights and her people_ she ended up alone on the red hill of Camlann, betrayed by her own son, her sister, Lancelot, Guinevere and almost everyone. Your advice caused her's fall. You are a prophet, you could not ignore it.

Merlin sat down, holding his staff between his legs. He looked thoughtful and serious:

\- Rin Tohsaka, do you know that she is the difference between a seer and a prophet?

\- A seer sees the future; the prophet receives inspiration from a higher being... a god generally.  
The magician agreed:

\- I have no powers of divination. Simply, my ability to travel in the world of dreams has often made me meet beings who have shown me glimpses of the future. I worked for centuries. I was already there when Emperor Constance Chlorus sent a general named Caraufius to fight the Franks and Saxons who were razing the coasts of Gaul and Brittany. Caraufius won several victories but was richly rewarded by the locals. Constance Chlorus also had him condemned to death. An effect of my manipulations...  
Rin looked at the magician with narrow eyes: "Why?"

Merlin shrugged his shoulders:

\- The Roman Empire was dying, I wanted to protect my country. He needed a powerful and good warrior king. I chose Caraufinus and crowned him king of Armorica. He governed this country for a few years before he died and passed his charge to Allectus, which was also the result of my intrigues. I had prepared this young man for this role, I hoped... so...

Merlin crossed his fingers and nodded:

\- As Allectus's advisor, I pushed him to bring the first Bretons to Armorica to develop uninhabited land. Subsequently, part of the Armorica was given to Conan Meriadek by Magnus Maximus. A tyrant who had proclaimed himself king of Britain.

Merlin glanced at Rin, warning of her intervention:

\- Yes, I was the one who maneuvered for him to be made "master of the Gauls"... a very bad choice that I still regret. I helped him scramble the Scots and the Picts to go to war with each other. I was hoping that this would offer enough peace for Brittain to rearm. Alas, Magnus Maximus withdrew the two legions present in Britain and walked toward Paris. After his death, Scots and Picts resumed their attacks on Romanized Britain. I then pushed the Bretons to immigrate to Armorica. After the fall of Maximus, Conan Meriadek was confirmed as king of Armorica by Emperor Theodosius.  
The magician stopped then, to Toksaka's great surprise, he began to sing in Breton:

_"Abaoe 'z eus kozh amzer (bis)_

_Pa veze Arvorig he anv ar vro-man (bis)_

_A pa vuen du-hontn breman, 'm bije un istor all, pe un istor, pe'm bije ket istor ebet_

_An dud kaezh a veve diwar un netraig a bede hon doueou kohz hag a oa eürus _

_Konan Veriadeg oa roue kurunet war enez Preden (bis)_

_Uhelek ha mezv e benn gant an holl deñzorioù a biaoue, ne voe ket e Walc'h ren war bPreden..._

_Hag E lakaae soñj, 'n e galon zroukyoulet, yeviañ holl vroioù Galia (bis)._

_Evit seveniñ e vennoz, e vodas holl varc'heion an enez hag eñ da baraman tinñ ur yoc'h a listri hir_

_Hag an holl dud armet-se a bignas e-barh, nag i war vor war-zu aodoù Arvorig._

_A-vec'h chlestret setu ma krogont da stourm ouzhar C'hauaned a veve aman..._

_E Lanrivoare; e bro-Leon, seizh mil seizh kant seizh sant ha seizh-urgent, lazhat gant Meriadez an Tiern, den a feiz hag a vrezel, zo kousket da viken darzh bered ar Sent !_

_... Haz an amzer o vont hediou da'n eñvor..._

_Leun a glod haz a drec'h, trenet eo Meriadez, an an Tiern meur... peoc'h d'e anaon ankeniet !_

_Graelen, ur baron feleun dezhañ, zo bet galvet da war e lerc'h Graedlen ! Graelen Veur !" _(1)

Merlin sighed:

\- Another bad choice, more blood spilled for nothing... In 406, the Roman soldiers stationed on the island of Brittany elected a certain Constantine as emperor. A few years after a Roman general of barbaric origin, Geronce raised Gaul with his troops of Vandals, Alans, and Suebi. Feeling completely abandoned by Rome, the Bretons drove out the Roman magistrates and established Conan Meriadek as a great king... under the laws and authority of the Roman emperor. However, Britain's island was now under constant attack by the Picts, the Scotts, and the Saxons. The Bretons asked Emperor Honorius to help them. But he replied that he could not and that they had to fend for themselves. It was, therefore - in 418 - the second wave of refugees in Armorica.

Rin was now completely silent, listening to Merlin's history lesson.

In 419, Rome recognized the independence of the Bretons and gave them the status of _feodari _(allies).  
Conan died in 421.

His grandson Solomon succeeded him. He married the daughter of the Roman patrician Flavius. Solomon died in 435. In seeking to correct the laws, he provoked a revolt.

It is said that the main person responsible for his death was his successor Gradlon Veur. The emperor Valentinian III thought so anyway and ordered Count Littorius to avenge Solomon. So there was a war between Gradlon and Littorius. At first, the Roman gained the upper hand, but Gradlon allied with the Baguaudes, a rebellious Gaulish tribe, and with the Franks. Gradlon overthrew the conflict and captured Tours in 444. But Aetius took over the city the following year. Gradlon died in 445.  
\- Aetius? The winner of Attila?

Rin's question attracted a simple nod of Merlin's head which continued his account:

\- Let us back up a moment, to Britain's island. The problems with the invaders had only increased. In 429, there was a conflict between Bretons over the Pelagius heresy. His supporters were defeated. This is the beginning of the decline of Britain. Instead of ganging up against the invaders, the Bretons plundered each other and ripped off the little that the barbarians had left. The country was completely ruined. The survivors abandoned the Roman cities to hide in the forests and mountains where they lived hunting. The Bretons finally chose to ask the Romans for help and sent them the following message: "Barbarians push us to the sea, if we want to avoid being slaughtered, we are swallowed up by the waves and not to perish in the depths we fall into the hands of our most cruel enemies. Finally, we find death on some sides that we turn". Aetius could only reply to them that he could not do anything for them.

Rin sat in a chair leaning against the other wall: "What have you done?"

\- Oh, a lot of things. I gave advice, replaced rulers and tribal leaders. I thought I was picking good men, and after a series of robberies and murders, they ended up slaughtered by their own people. Without the help of the Romans, the island Bretons turned to the Bretons of Armorica. Audren, Gradlon's successor, sent 2,000 men under the command of his brother Constantin... but Aetius asked King Eotharic of the Alans to attack Armorica! The war turned to the detriment of the Bretons and it was necessary the intervention of Saint Germain d'Auxerre to stop the conflict.

Merlin smiles bitterly:

\- Happy Hollywood End... Except that arrogance mingled with it, barely the Bretons recovered from the invasion; here they are pushing back the demands for reparation of the Romans! They reply that they are now independent and although they no longer count on the empire! It is true that at present, the Romans feared the Alans, a federated people becoming too powerful and too greedy... moreover, they lose one province after another. So in 447 the two Bretagnes are now completely freed from the Roman Empire.

Rin nodded, wondering why the magician was explaining events that had taken place centuries before the birth of Artoria.

A new war broke out between Bretons and Alans, but this time the Bretons won and occupied a large part of Gaul.

Riotchime succeeded his father in 464. But the following year, Euric, king of the Visigoths, invaded Gaul. Riotchime and Euric clashed at Bourges. The battle was undecided for a long time, but finally, the Visigoths won. At the same time, what remained of the Roman forces in Gaul, led by the Counts Gilles, was at war against the Franks of King Childeric and suffered one setback after another.

During his troubles, Riotchime died (of natural death) and Eusebius was his successor. He ruled a short time. He died in 490 and was replaced by Budic, Riotchime's younger brother. He lived on Britain's island and was forced to return to the continent with his wife and children to take over his kingdom. He saved Nantes, which was besieged.

Since 481 Clovis was king of the Franks. He defeated in 486 Syagrus, the last master of the Roman militias. Baptized in 496, the Franc king attacked the Armorica where he faced Budric. But the fight dragged on and the Bretons showed great value. Clovis chose to settle the matter by an alliance cemented by a marriage. The great advantage of this alliance was that the last Roman garrisons, blocked in the country, gave themselves to one or the other. This was the end of nearly six centuries of Roman occupation.

Peace, however, was only fleeting. After the death of Clovis, the Frissons (vassal people of the Franks) attacked the Armorica and plundered it from an end to another. In fact, she was briefly conquered as the bishopric of Leon was founded by Frank's King Childebert.

Merlin rose to dust the bottom of his mage dress:

\- The rest of the story is better known Vortigern, Ambrosius Aurelianus, Uther Pendragon... the kings who succeeded each other in Britain was either incapable or tyrants. And the few times they were neither, they would die young. Artoria, the last of them, was the only one who could have succeeded. Yes, I picked up a 15-year-old girl and threw her like you said: "into an arena full of rabid dogs".  
He looked at Rin with sorrow:

\- I did what I could with what I had on hand. I tried, tried, still... again... and again... I fought fate and lost.

* * *

(1) Translation:

Since a long time ago (bis)

When Armorica was the name of this country... (bis)

If I were there now, I would have another story or an old story, or I would have no story at all.

The poor inhabitants lived with a little, prayed to the gods, and they were happy.

Conan Meriadec was crowned king of the island of Britain. (bis)

Proud and drunk of all the treasures he possessed, he did not have his content to reign over Britain...  
And he decided in his covetous heart to submit the land of Gaul to the yoke. (bis)

To carry out his plan, he gathered all the knights of the island and began to arm a bunch of warships...

And all these armed people went up there, and into the sea towards the coast of Armorica. As soon as they landed, they began to attack the Gauls who lived here...

In Lanviroaré, in the land of Leon, seven thousand seven hundred and twenty-seven saints, killed by Prince Meriadec, a man of faith and war, are lying forever in the cemetery of the Saints!

And time passes along the memory...

Full of glory and victory, Meriadec the great prince passed away...

Peace to his anguished souls!*

Gradlon, one of his faithful barons, was called upon to succeed him.

Gradlon! Gradlon the Great!

*It's a literal translation, but I think the meaning is: "Peace to the anguished souls of the saints murdered by Conan Meriadec".


	25. Chapter 24 Knightly Vigil

**Knightly Vigil**

* * *

The night had passed without the goblins renewing the assault. Unloading the ships rescued from the privateers' attack, finding shelter for the two hundred soldiers who had just reinforced the garrison, had caused many problems that had to be solved. The light of the torches had never ceased to shine in the streets of the port.

At dawn, Artoria, Shiro, Estienne de Vignonne, and Mordane Hawkstone met again after a few short hours of sleep. The Baron of Koeglin had proposed to the three newcomers to accompany him on an inspection tour.

In his company, the trio discovered Koeglin. The port had a mediocre reputation. Too close to Wayrest to emerge from its shadow, it attracted few commercial vessels and survived mainly by fishing and transporting passengers to the islands that were part of the Alcaire kingdom. The facilities consisted of four floating docks, two warehouses, a lighthouse and a drydock just large enough to simultaneously build two twenty-meters-long ships.

With the war, most of the houses in the harbor were abandoned, either the inhabitants fled... or they were killed in the previous day's fighting.

The city itself was at the top of a cliff. You had to climb a long staircase cut into the rock to reach it. The houses were tighter, with some large buildings, including the inn of Sleepy Sailor, Eliaranna's store (a High Elf as stingy as Rin and who seemed to hate Mordane... which the latter reciprocated) as well as, of course, the baron's mansion.

On the main square, a tent had been set up. It served as a field hospital in Koeglin. The monks and priests of Mara, Auriel, and Talos helped the many wounded caused by the fighting of the day before. Unfortunately, they were clearly overwhelmed... and there were not enough beds to accommodate all the victims.

* * *

Despite years spent on Tamriel, Shiro left with a strong urge to vomit. He was not accustomed to the hardness of the world in which he now lived. Even in times of "peace" life was already hard between the attacks of wandering monsters, brigands, or necromancers. But the current conflict seemed to drag High-Rock into a self-destructive spiral that only benefited Angra Mainyu. Dozens of cities had already been ravaged and there had probably been more than fifty thousand dead and at least as many refugees, not to mention the fields ravaged by the passage of the armies, abandoned by the peasants on the run, or the villages burned.

An apocalyptic tableau... it would take decades to erase the damage caused by what was already called the Great Invasion.

Immersed in his thoughts, Shiro no longer listened to Baron Mordane. However, sensing a shadow hiding the sun from him, he looked mechanically above him... to stop with his mouth open, blinking... living image of stupefaction.

Saber smiled at his surprise. Unlike her lover, she had listened to Mordane Hawkstone's explanations:  
"No... you're not dreaming. This is indeed an airship."

Indeed, the small square where the Baron of Koeglin had taken them served as an anchor for a vehicle that was not expected to be found in a medieval world. A long tethered dominated the roofs of the nearby houses. Made in brown leather, he wore inscriptions in a language that Shiro did not speak but recognized, it was Bosmeri... the language of the Wood Elves. Below, connected to the zeppelin by numerous cables, he saw a boat-like basket. The rear was occupied by a dwemer metal steam engine and consisted of two large propellers for the time at rest.

The vision of dwemer machines revived his childhood memories... of his second childhood... in Morrowind:  
\- A flying dwemer ship!

Dwemer, or Deep Elves, were more frequently referred to as Dwarves. This popular name was, in fact, a mistake that was due to the pseudo-scientific ramblings of Marobar Sul, an author of the Second Era. Of course, they were really called so... but by the Giants, because, in fact, they were at least as tall as the Nords of Skyrim.

Although gifted in the art of magic, the Dwemer had developed an advanced science based on the use of steam. Their most famous creation, the steam automata, was still incomprehensible to the magi who studied them.

Unfortunately, we could no longer ask their creators. They had disappeared thousands of years ago. According to legends, within a single day... because they had angered the gods, are we talking about.  
The airships were one of their greatest achievements. Some had been painfully refurbished and flown in the skies of Tamriel. We sometimes met some above Morrowind or Hammerfell.

\- Allow me to introduce Orthelon Oakthorn.

The baron pointed to a little man dressed in a brown quilted doublet and green slippers. On top, he wore a leather apron with multiple pockets loaded with vials filled with colored liquids. Clothing and apron were stained with a rainbow of various products, as well as various burns produced by flames or acids. He also wore a shapely bonnet from which came out tufts of hair as tangled as sheep's wool. His long triangular ears identified him as an elf, probably a Bosmer. To add to his laughable appearance, he had thick glasses on his pointed nose that magnified blinking and dreamy eyes.

\- Orthelon is a mage of the Guide, an alchemist to be precise. He is responsible for the reconstruction of this ship.

The Bosmer turned his short-sighted gaze on Mordane:

\- What ship are you talking about?

The baron sighed, displaying a resigned face that showed that problems of communication with the elf mage were not to be rare. He pointed to the balloon:

\- I'm talking about that ship, your ship rebuilt with dwemer machines...

Orthelon seemed to think for a few moments and then his face lit up:

\- Oh, you mean that ship! Why didn't you say so? I told you how I found and repaired it?

\- At least thirty times!

But Orthelon wasn't listening anymore. He embarked on a long narrative full of digressions - in particular a story of black cats and kittens which knew itself several digressions- where there was talk of an imperial expedition to the dwemer ruins of Martenfell. All told with many incongruous details.

Shiro began to worry about the health of the Bosmer Mage when he saw that Mordane was staring at the elf's neck by opening and spasmodically closing his hands... probably dreaming of strangling him to make him FINALLY silence.

Fortunately, a female voice fell from the airship:

\- Uncle Orthelon, can't you see that you are tiring our guests?

Shiro lifted her eyes, to discover an elusive form, running on one of the mooring ropes. She jumped to the ground, three meters lower. The red hair young elf was dressed in light leather armor and a coat of green feathers. The outfit left her arms bares and allowed to discover tattoos of the same red as her hair. However, Shiro noticed mostly the short crows horns on her forehead (1).

As the young woman patted on Mordane's shoulder, he sighed and shook his head... She then turned to the other people present:

\- I am Cirthile, Orthelon's niece, and associate. My uncle is a genius but... let's just say that someone has to make sure that he wearies his shoes, doesn't skip his meals... and doesn't blow up the airship.

Saber, Shiro, and Estienne de Vignonne presented themselves. The young elf offered them a radiant smile:  
\- Oh, so I have to thank you for being alive this morning? Well, thank you...

Artoria bowed slightly:

\- We are happy to have arrived in time to save Koeglin.

\- Not as much as I do, believe me.

Cirthile stared at the baron with a questioning glimmer in her eyes:

\- My lord, do you want me to show them the maps?

\- Exactly.

Mordane turned to Artoria, Shiro and Estienne:

\- Cirthile and Orthelon were stuck here at the time of the invasion. They rendered invaluable services. First, Orthelon is an alchemist. His potions have helped us well... and above all, there is the airship.  
The young Bosmer vigorously acquiesced:

\- Despite appearances, our flying ship is very quiet. It can even fly at night. Over the last few months, we've done a lot of reconnaissance. I doubt anyone knows more about enemy targets than my uncle and me.

* * *

In the warm lounge that occupied the front of the strange flying ship, Cirthile had unrolled a map of the region. There were different symbols that the young elf explained. Artoria listened, the face impassive, nodding at times as she memorized the positions of goblin and orc troops.

Cirthile then laid her finger on a bridge west of Koeglin:

\- This is the first obstacle for the relief army. If you want to lift the siege of the city, you will have to cross the river and the orcs have set up a camp on the east bank. The bridge itself is blocked by a barricade. The worst is that the orcs have gathered many barrels of what I suppose to be tar. Since the bridge is made of wood, they probably plan to burn it rather than allow it to be captured.  
The mouth of Artoria folded in a sign of contrariety. Instinctively, her eyes had followed the course of the river upstream, in search of a ford. She noted a thick black line scribbled with coal and an inscription. The king of the British's island put a finger on the short text:

\- Miss Cirthile, what is this?

The Bosmer sighed:

\- A dam...

Shiro scratched his cheek, surprised...

\- Sorry?

\- Water retention. Upstream of the valley, there is a ford easy to borrow in winter. However, the orcs drowned the valley which is now occupied by an artificial lake.

"So for the army to cross the river, we either have to take the bridge before it is destroyed, or we have to destroy the dam," said Saber. She addressed Cirthile, who nodded with a sinister face. The Bosmer put her finger on a black square, also near the river:

\- There is a fort watching over the dam. It won't be easy... really not.

Artoria showed nothing, but Shiro knew her well enough to note that this lack of emotion showed her self-control. And she was as careful not to show her emotions as to hide anger... or worry.

Saber had good reason to be alarmed. Orcs were not only more numerous than the Bretons. They were also taller, stronger, and trained in combat since childhood. Finally, their weapons and armor of orichalcum gave them a real advantage over those, made of steel, of the humans.

On Earth, Shiro had taken her on a date. They had seen an American film where the heroes were fighting with lightsabers against robots (2). The villains were numerous and well-armed... but stupid and the good guys beat their immense army because of a laughable mistake.

It was unfair that in reality, the leaders of huge, well-equipped, and trained armies were not as dumb as in Hollywood movies.

whoever commanded the orcs in the area, he was a brilliant tactician. On the offensive, he had shown that he could mount an attack requiring planning and coordination. Worse, he had perfectly understood the strategic stakes of the confrontation, choosing to adopt a defensive position against the relief army. For this, he had strengthened an excellent natural position... Even if the Bretons triumphed, they would be bled dry and unable to continue towards Wayrest.

Everything now rested on her and her friends' hands, they were on the other side of the obstacle... but surrounded by another enemy army that had to be defeated first.

Artoria could not remember being in a worse position. No... she was wrong. Her eyes narrowed...

\- Our only chance of winning is if the enemy continues to attack Koeglin and we inflict a crushing defeat on him.

Despite his superiority, the enemy could be defeated... but only if he continued to attack Koeglin.

Yesterday's attack was brilliant, but it remained a strategic mistake... The enemy leader did not need to take Koeglin to win. Surrounded, the port was useless and it would be a real suicide for the garrison to go out against the goblins in a row battle. It was enough for the Orc chief to sit idly by and wait for the Bretons to lose. Yet he had attacked...

The orcs were powerful, the goblins numerous... but the two peoples were unruly. In addition, Malacath's code governed the life of Orcs. These divine laws required that the chief be the strongest and bravest individual in the tribe.

Yes, the enemy leader was _obliged_ to attack Koeglin, because if he remained passive, there would be revolts and desertions in his camp. While young hotheads would challenge him to a duel because they thought he was fading.

Artoria Pendragon smiles, with her hand on her hip.

Who would have thought that the warrior culture of the Orcs could be a weakness to exploit?

* * *

The town of Koeglin was surrounded by dry stone walls, assembled without mortar. It was not a wall, but a _Barrière d'Octroi_ pierced by a single door that a militiaman kept. As the baron approached, the man hastened to raise the bar which blocked the two leaves.

While he was operating, Mordane turned to his guests:

\- Four months ago, when the first goblins started harassing my city, I commenced a fortification project. The fence around Koeglin was designed only to stop thieves and smugglers. So it was in front of this wall that I built my masterpiece...

The baron's voice vibrated with pride. When the doors turned on their hinges, Artoria, Shiro, and Estienne understood why.

In front of them was a palisade, but it was not mainline of defense of the city. Beyond, there were watchtowers. On the right, a large house had been transformed into a fort. Militiamen in armors practiced exercises under the guidance of a drill sergeant. Further on, we could hear the impact of hammers on the anvil, the cries of the sentinels. Guard patrols passed between the tents of a large camp, preceded by _chevaux de frise_ and wooden obstacles.

The eyes of Artoria narrowed:

\- The wharf guards had talked about the fence... I expected something much less impressive.

\- I take that as a compliment, Lady Pendragon. Follow me.

As they skirted a camp area, the baron showed the tents:

\- Mercenaries and militiamen are based here. Behind you can see the forges; they produce and repair our weapons as well as the nails and fittings needed to maintain the city's defenses.

A little further, they passed a mangonel surrounded by its gunners.

\- Our artillery is limited to two pieces, for now... a third catapult is under construction.

As they skirted a palisade supported by numerous buttresses, Shiro was astonished by its shape:

\- Why is this wall concave?

Mordane laughs:

\- Good question, this is a trap. There are two series of palisades of this type placed in staggered between the outer wall and the gate. They all have the shape of a cup... In your opinion, Shiro Emiya what do goblins do when they manage to pierce the outer rampart?

\- Uh... are they spreading in the camp?

The baron agreed:

\- Right, heading straight through the first clear space.

As they reached the end of the palisade, where the arch of the circle was closest to the outer rampart, Mordane Hawkstone showed the two imposing tree-trunk stacks blocking most of the space. Their tops had been arranged in firing positions accessible by ladders on their side, but on the other - towards the inside of the cutter- their sides were covered with staves.

\- However, as soon as the goblins spread over a section of the walkway, the defenders leave for the next, removing behind them the boards that form a bridge between the two sections. The goblins are therefore forced to lower the ladders. There, they find a clear space in front of them, flanked on both sides by a duo of shooting platforms. The space separating each pair of stands being occupied by _Chevaux de frises_ placed there by the retreating defenders. Choosing what seems the easiest way, the goblins continue straight ahead...

Crossing the narrow space between the platforms of fire (barricaded in case of intrusion in the area), Mordane and his guests arrived at the place where the goblins had pierced. Many bodies of entangled humanoids littered the ground... charred bodies.

\- ... where they bump into the cup-shaped palisade. They turn around. Except that other goblins keep coming behind them. The goblins that have crawled into the dead-end and the newcomers get in each other's way and huddle in the middle of a vast free space just between shooting platforms. As I said to you earlier, Orthelon is not only the owner of a flying vessel; he is mostly an alchemist. He provided us with many vials of intense fire oil. Yesterday, when the goblins crossed the outer wall we threw a few of them into the mass of the fighters... they roasted alive.

Shiro swallowed by imagining goblins trapped in the cup and sprayed with burning oil. The war was already a dreadful thing... but the trap set by Mordane had a ruthless and cruel side that the young man could not accept. The manipulative mind of the head of the city, a man able to anticipate the movements of his enemies and then to use this knowledge with terrifying efficiency, testified to a form of genius. The young Japanese was divided between disgust and fascination for the creator of this trap.

The baron shrugged his shoulders, seeming to understand what Shiro was feeling:

\- My friend, we do not make war with good feelings. I did not start this conflict. I am not the aggressor and I defend this city and the civilians who inhabit it with next to no means. So I have no qualms about making up for my numerical inferiority through these kinds of schemes.

Artoria, who knew her lover well, did not let him argue with Mordane, choosing to take the floor to monopolize the baron's attention:

\- Could you show us the outer wall, my lord?

\- With joy. Let's head towards the gap created by the goblins, you can get an idea of its construction.

Saber was very intrigued by Koeglin's first line of defense. The wall was not a simple right palisade... but a thick wall with a complicated layout.

\- The rampart is what is called a wooden wall.

Mordane pointed to the breach. Between the broken wooden trunks one could see the flow of the earth:  
\- These are two palisades holding a blockage in sandwich. The flexible wood frame and earth absorb the vibrations. This makes it a very resistant obstacle to siege weapons such as catapults and rams. At first, I had covered the outside with wet mud to prevent the enemy from burning the rampart. But with the cold that set in, I simply poured water. By freezing it covered the palisade with a layer of ice. The wall is erected on a mound where sharp stakes are planted, all preceded by a ditch.

\- Why is the drawn so strange, Baron?

\- In fact, U-shaped ramparts alternate with inverted V-shaped sections. This has two advantages: first, the enemy has only short straight sections facing him that they can aim with their catapults. Then, wherever they attack, they are subjected to the crossfire of our archers.

Artoria shook his head, impressed by the defensive structure erected by the baron. The orcs had made an irreparable mistake by delaying any serious attack on Koeglin for so long. Mordane Hawkstone now had an almost unbridled position.

* * *

It was already past noon - according to the thunder who roared in Saber's stomach- when they returned to the port.

The inspection of Koeglin had been fertile in discoveries that required a little time to be assimilated. The small port city had been transformed by the vagaries of fate into a strategic position. Its fate would greatly influence the course of the war.

Unlike Saber, Shiro had more down-to-earth thoughts. As soon as he entered the house requisitioned to serve as their home, he had begun to work at the stoves. Under normal circumstances, the King of Knights would no longer have stood in impatience. Nevertheless, even if the meals prepared by the young Japanese remained far superior to the ordinary soldiers, he was limited by the supply.

The army's quartermaster provided only legumes such as lentils or split peas, biscuits, black bread, dried fruit, cheese, dry sausages, and soup. Even for a talented cook like Shiro, with such little variety of food, it was difficult to make a feast... even counting on his personal reserve of spices.

Making tea, thanks to the kettle left warm on the stove, Artoria joined Rin and Merlin. Unlike Gonderic de Bel-Amant, who had remained in port to direct the soldiers in their absence, the two casters had no responsibility in the army of Verandia.

They must have spent the whole morning together and Artoria admitted to being curious to know what they had done.

As she brought tea, Saber took the opportunity to look at her mentor. He did not appear to have been seriously injured. As for her friend, she was not turned into a toad... the worst had been avoided.  
"So, Rin, did you have a pleasant morning?"

In a surprising way Rin blushed and looked away. Artoria played it discreetly. The "Red Devil" was surprising without malice. If anything embarrassed her, she couldn't hide it.

Merlin on the contrary...

"We spent the morning talking about you. I told Tohsaka everything I could remember about your were so adorable when you were telling Ertor that one day you were holding the greatest knight. What were you... six? You were chasing pigs with a wooden sword. You have no idea how strong a character it took me not to tell all these stories to the Knights of the Round. Well, that would have caused the end of Camelot because no one would have taken King Arthur seriously... so I held on. Luckily, I finally met someone I could tell everything about."

Translation: all the most embarrassing moments of her life...

\- Merlin?

\- Yes, my king?

\- I have wanted to tell you this for years.

\- Yes, my king?

\- I hate you.

\- I love you too, Artoria.

Saber forced herself not to look towards Rin. But she must have been red as a tomato. Let's change the subject...

\- I would like to know what you are doing here? The last time I checked, Viviane imprisoned you in an Avalon tower.

The Wizard of Flowers rubbed his chin:

\- Oh, the answer is simple.

Artoria waited... again... then sighed:

\- Okay, you want me to ask you the question... well... if the answer is simple would you please and if you don't mind, please answer the question.

Rin looked at Saber with surprise as the magician bowed a little too deeply:

\- Your Majesty so politely asks, how can I refuse? Well, as I said, the answer is simple... I'm not here.  
There was a blank in the conversation Rin and Artoria looked at Merlin as if he had suddenly pushed a second nose.

\- You are not there? Says Saber and Tohsaka simultaneously.

The Wizard of Flowers approved with a vigorous chin movement:

\- Yes, yes, I'm not here. You see, a spell as simple as it is elegant holds me prisoner: "Only an individual with a pure heart can leave the Garden of Avalon". What can you do against such a spell when you are half-incubus? The answer is... nothing. So I'm still a prisoner in the Avalon and I could never escape.

Rin Tohsaka shook her head whispering something incomprehensible. Then she glanced at Artoria with pity:

\- How did you not go crazy after years with him? I met him yesterday and I already want to kill him...  
\- This is probably the most shared feeling in Britain. However, if Merlin says that he is not before us, it is probably the truth. He is not the type to lie openly.

The King of the Knights considered his former mentor for a few seconds and nodded:  
\- So how do you appear to be before us, Merlin? You are a Servant. I have participated in two Grail Wars; I recognize this feeling of being in front of someone whose body is made of _prana_. Except you're alive... and from what you just said, still prisoner of the Garden of Avalon.

Rin startled and rubbed her chin, with a dreamy air:

\- I can't believe I missed it. Merlin's body is still prisoner of Avalon... but he managed to free his soul and create a Servant's body to house it.

Artoria smiled:

\- A usual Merlin effect, he irritates people so much that even the most intelligent can no longer think properly. Unlike you, I have a long habit, and I'm not so touched anymore.

King Arthur's advisor looked at Artoria and Rin before smiling:

\- Let me congratulate you, you have summed up the situation perfectly. I've been trying for centuries to find a way out of the Garden of Avalon. Fortunately, I had all the time in the world to think about this problem. I quickly discovered that my prison did not prevent me from using my ability to enter the dreams of others. So my mind could come out. So I studied a skill normally available to the Beasts of the Apocalypse... _Independent Manifestation_. This is a more powerful version of the skill _Independent Action_ of the Archer class servants. It allows a being to manifest independently, without needing a Master or even spending energy to materialize. As I master it at rank A, it allows this manifested form to be immune to temporal magic and all the spells that cause sudden death... after all, I'm not really there so you can't really affect me that way.

Like a bad tragedian, Merlin carried his hand to his forehead in an affected manner:

"And if ever poor Merlin... by some terrible trick of fate... should die, well..."He stuck out his tongue: "I would wake up in my tower. I may need a few days or months to come forward again... but I will come back."

Rin had become pale. With her arms crossed, she thought furiously:

\- Not only is his humor unbearable, but I cannot even commit murder to silence him. It is terrible... A real horror movie screenplay! The kind where heroin is chased by a horrible monster that comes back every time you think you got rid of it.

Merlin seemed slightly disturbed by Tohsaka's aggressiveness...

* * *

(1) The Wood Elves (Bosmer) of Tamriel sometimes have deer antlers.

(2) Yes Shiro took Saber to see "Star War Episode 1: The Phantom Menace"...


	26. Chapter 25 Art of War

**Foreword of the author:**** A few months ago a reader posted a long comment on this Fanfic under the pseudonym of "Guest". He touched on many points. However, he was particularly critical of the fact that magic was so little used in battles. According to him, the cast of spells should radically change the clashes and he did not understand that my fights remain also "traditional".  
Those who have the curiosity to look at my profile saw that I practiced strategy games in a "professional" way. The reflection of "Guest" had nothing new for me; it is the classic debate between the "New School" (which believes that a new technology radically changes the art of war) and the "Old School" (who thinks that the new technologies do not render obsolete the methods already known).**

**This debate comes up again and again in human history. It took place with the invention of the oblique phalanx by Pagondas, that of the stirrup, the long lance... and more recently with the tank.  
To understand the problem, you have to understand the magic... of the Elder Scrolls world.  
The spells are imprecise, have a useful range of about fifty meters, propagate in a straight line, and can be dodged by ordinary individuals.**

**So, for mages to participate in a battle, they must be on the front line to avoid touching allies (friendly fire is not). Nor must there be any obstacle between them and the enemy.  
Imagine the following situation: Two armies with an identical budget each hire a fighting force to fight in a bare plain, without obstacle. The first spends all its money to create a force of 80 beginner mages. Opposite, for the same price, the holder of the "Old School" hires militiamen armed with crossbows... 2000 militiamen, because shopkeepers who spend a day each week training with crossbow are much cheaper than mages who have studied the magic for years with masters paid at top dollar.**

**The fight begins... arrived at two hundred meters, the crossbowmen open fire on the mages and begin to retreat (a row shoots, a row step back while reloading). The Magi are too far away to fight back... the crossbows are accurate... before reaching range all the Magi are dead!  
So the magi are useless in battle?**

**No, not at all, but I took a silly example to demonstrate the absurdity of the "New School" position.  
In my Fanfic, the Magi fight at the Battle of the Bjoulsae, where they intervene over the Bjoulsae River in response to orc shamans. Other magi defend the walls of Wayrest, during the siege, and they slaughter hordes of orcs...**

**In both cases, the magi are relatively safe from bowmen and operate in support of more traditional forces. They have proven to be very effective.**

**In the world of Elder Scrolls, magic has a very important role in battles. When Tiber Septim invaded Morrowind, the Dunmers (Dark Elves) fought a decisive battle with the Cyrodillian legions on the shores of a lake. The Living God Vivec had chosen the site very well. The marshy banks of the lake considerably hindered the legionnaires in heavy armor. While the more lightly equipped Dunmer troops moved there much faster. Entrenched on the other side, the Black Elves waited for the Imperial, thinking that they would have to divide their forces to attack them in pincers. The Dunmers could then take advantage of their superior mobility to harass the enemy on one side while concentrating their forces on the other branch of the pincer to crush it.**

**Except that the Imperials left the lake to land in the middle of the enemy formation! They had walked on the bottom thanks to potions of Aquatic Breaths.**

**Even a "simple" potion can become a decisive advantage in a battle.**

**This does not mean that the use of great spells is totally unknown on the battlefield.**

**The Falmers (the Ice Elves) invariably began all their battles by unleashing an ice storm on their opponents, freezing them, blinding them, dispersing them... making easy targets for the Falmers, naturally resistant to the cold.**

**Most of the time, however, the use of battle magic remains discreet, the knights (in the world of T.E.S.) learn the magic of illusion, in particular, the spell "Courage" that allows them to stop the rout of allied units. The War Magi of the Legion cast protective spells before attacking their opponents with swords.**

**However, when magic comes more directly, especially when a powerful magus is in an army, he must expose himself... Knowing when and how to bring in the asset that a mage represents is the very essence of the art of war.**

* * *

**Art of War**

* * *

The confrontation for Koeglin's control had been going on for months.

The forest around the harbor had been cut by the defenders, as much to raise the wooden wall that now surrounded their city, as to clear the surroundings and discern the movements of the goblins.  
Amidst the stumps that emerged from the dirty snow trampled by thousands of feet, humanoids clung around their shamans. The medicine men danced among the circles formed by the warriors who accompanied them by striking their coarse weapons against their shields.

It was a dreadful sound, tam-tams and flutes mingled as excited people beat like deaf people on Bretons helmets, some of which still rested on severed heads.

The shamans, in the midst of hysteria, grotesquely twisted and glared. They wore fur robes adorned with bones, feathers, skulls of small animals, and had their faces hidden behind hideous masks.

The Grand Shaman Grutbug stood squatting in a dirty fur nest on a shaky tower of trunks attached by vegetal ties. He was an old goblin with a painted face, wearing a wolf-skin cape, and a wolf skull covered his head.

He suddenly stood up and began to howl, foaming:

\- _Bronk... uglakush! Gûl! Gorgol mluuk goba muluk malikob sheg glob skai ya hoi!_

In view of the hateful cries that answered him and the goblin warriors who were wielding their weapons, he probably had not just issued an invitation for the 5-hour tea party.

* * *

The assault on Koeglin was eminent.

The goblins gathered just beyond the reach of the Bretons. They were already two or three thousand, gathered around the totem of the different tribes participating in the siege.

The crowd of warriors made a terrifying spectacle. Their rusty weapons, their armors mixing corroded iron, rotten leather, dirty skins, furs and bones gave them a barbaric and repugnant appearance. Some rode giant wolves with dark and bristling fur. They accompanied the screams of their masters with sinister howls.

Elsewhere, goblins had parked durzogs. The fearsome sauroids trained like war dogs were also caught in the war frenzy of their masters. They jumped over the fences of their enclosures, growled, and sometimes came to fight among themselves.

Like a sea shaken by the storm, this crowd grew from several rivers of goblin warriors who poured out from the nearby camps abandoned by their garrisons.

More and more warriors were converging. Skirmishers armed with bows, Boxers, Berserkers, warlords, witches... Here and there, among them, we saw a different creature. Sometimes a sort of three-eyed gorilla chained and pulled by gesticulating goblins that scared him by waving torches. These enslaved trolls, however, were less terrifying than the knobby-muscle giants walking among the crowd. Their skin was dirty white, they had no hair. Their round head, their limp mouth opened in a stupid grin gave them the appearance of complete cretins. Their clothing was limited to studded leather bracelets on the wrists and a fur loincloth decorated with a belt of human skulls. As their only weapon, they held a huge club... almost a tree trunk.

The later chronicles estimated that the goblin army was 7000 humanoids strong.

* * *

A tense silence reigned over Koeglin. The militiamen squeezed cold against each other. Sitting in their coats, some were asleep. The vast majority were just waiting.

Two knights were kneeling among them. One of them looked through a spyglass towards the goblin crowd and commented on his findings to his neighbor. He sighed:

-I hope this hellish noise will soon stop!

\- It is the shamans who pray to the god Malooc to grant them courage and invincibility in battle. When they stop, the assault will begin...

\- This expectation is unbearable. The sooner the attack begins the better.

Many militiamen approved.

However, all were aware of the desperate nature of the battle that was about to begin. The beleaguered garrison, mainly of levies and mercenaries, was only 2,000 men. The "army" of Artoria Pendragon - their only reinforcement since the beginning of the siege- counted only two hundred fighters.

* * *

It was the two mangonels of the Koeglin garrison who opened hostilities. The lookouts installed on the lookouts that dominated the outer defenses had established a series of landmarks. When a troop of goblins crossed those who reported that they were within the range of the mangonels built by the defenders, they issued scoring instructions.

At their feet, the gunners pressed around, turning their war machine. Then, two big guys activated on the winch capstan to stretch the arm before lifting a stone ball covered with pitch and placing it in the spoon.

An officer carrying a torch set fire to the projectile, and then pulled a lever. Brutally released, the arm comes to hit the stop... and the flaming ball left the spoon. Its igneous trajectory passed over the rampart before falling back in the middle of a mass of goblins, crushing several small monsters, projecting around it stones, smoke, flames... it bounces, falls back further, bounces again... killing, injuring each time, sowing terror and disorganization.

* * *

The mercenary archers were veterans. They wore cloth armor under a steel chest. Helmets of various models: skull cap with nasal, burgonet, chapel-de-fer protected their heads. Their yew bows, almost as big as them, were powerful, but not very precise... but they did not need them, they were content to aim at the mass of the enemies. They were so numerous that their chances of touching were important.  
"Ready to notch!"

The order had been shouted by an officer standing among the gunmen. He had drawn his sword and was looking at a lookout on one of the watchtowers. The latter had raised a hand...  
"Notch it up!"

Together, each archer raised his arm over his left shoulder to shoot an arrow from the quiver beating in their back. They placed it on the rope but remained the bow lowered... anxious. The following order was not long in coming:

"Ready for hight-angle fire!"

They raised their bows almost vertically.

On the observation tower, the lookout had just lowered his arm. The officer turned to the mass of goblins running towards them. Some wore ladders, others pushed rams.

"Fire!"  
The archers stretched out their bows in a great crackling, and released the rope... within a few seconds hundreds of arrows lit out, leaping towards the sky before gravity did its work, folding them down to the ground. They fell vertically on the invaders. Less than half of the strokes killed or wounded goblins... the others poked themselves in the ground. However, even these arrows were not useless, for they created obstacles, as did the dead and wounded who rolled to the ground.

The goblin assault was slowed down where the shots had claimed the most victims, creating an accordion phenomenon that disorganized the advance of the besiegers.

* * *

On one of the watchtowers stood Shiro, he watched the battlefield. He held out the right minute and blue _prana_ butterflies condensed into an arrow which he placed on Archer's large black bow. The arrow flew, mortal, unstoppable...

There, far from the maximum range of ordinary bows, a goblin warlord riding a mighty wolf uttered a cry of pain and surprise... By reflex, he carried his hands to his breastplate where an arrow protruded. Then his eyes blurred and he slipped from his saddle.

The amber-eyed blacksmith was already looking for a new target.

A goblin witch was advancing with the warriors of her tribe. Dressed in a dirty grey dress, she resembled the other humanoids and her gender could only be guessed by the two small bumps on her chest. She wielded a big staff finished by the mummified head of the warlord of a rival clan... She brandished it in the direction of the rampart and immediately a whirlwind of frost appeared, striking the battlements, wounding and freezing the defenders.

Shiro fired and the witch was thrown back, an arrow between the two eyes.

The _Magus _continued, without rushing, calm, focused... an arrow on another warlord, on a standard-bearer leading an assault, a flaming arrow for a troll, a Daedric arrow against an ogre.

* * *

The goblins had also had war machines, tractions trebuchets. They were rather primitive ancestors of the trebuchet. It took dozens of gunners to operate them by back and forth movements. Although the projectiles had neither the range nor the weight of the balls thrown by the Bretons mangonels, they were accurate and aimed at one of the doors.

The latter was already beginning to vibrate under the blows and would probably break soon. Hundreds of goblins were already gathering in anticipation of the rush - necessarily victorious- that awaited them.

Except that a _Magus_ wearing a red turtleneck sweater and combed with twintails had just come running, her legs illuminated with lines of blue light. She stopped at the door and raised her left sleeve. Her _Magic Crest_ radiated, forming a labyrinthine pattern. With her eyes closed, focused, she reached for the damaged leaves:

"_Das Schließen Vogelkäfig Echo."_

A thin membrane of red light covered the exterior of the doors. The _Boundary Field_ raised by Tohsaka did not even vibrate when a rock bounces on it. The young Japanese girl crossed her arms with a satisfied air, then lifted her nose with a haughty sigh: "Have fun, it is not by throwing rocks that you will break one of my spells!"

* * *

The tactics of the Great Shaman Grutbug were simple but effective, the goblin used tractions trebuchets and rams to simultaneously attack two doors at the ends of the wood wall, forcing the defenders to divide their attention between these two hot spots.

In addition, smaller groups of humanoids used ladders to invest different points of the rampart. This forced the Bretons to keep manpower all along the wooden wall... and thus deprived them of men where they were most needed.

Fortunately, the path was narrow. Only one man could hold him against the goblins... well, in theory, because there wasn't a man who could kill dozens of them by himself... right?  
In recent months, Gonderic de Bel-Amant had developed an increasingly defensive style. Although Shiro gave him - once again- a _traced_ copy of Durandal before the start of the battle, the knight had more confidence in his armor and his fairy shield.

His shield raised, he patiently waited for the goblins that could not circumvent it. He pared the attack, bending his knees slightly to take it... and retaliated when his opponent screamed with pain after receiving the damage returned by the _Noble Phantasm_. On Durandal attach was enough to finish the creature.  
As he stopped the mass of the goblins, the archers on the watchtowers and the defense platforms of the second line of palisades could quietly line up the humanoids... Their arrows killed or wounded at least one opponent per minute, slowly decreasing the number of attackers. Unfortunately, most bridgeheads could only rely on ordinary humans to show down the humanoids and they survived only a few minutes the rush of the little green monsters. Nevertheless, even there, the defenses created by Mordane Hawkstone proved very effective and enemy losses multiplied.

However, the goblins that had just climbed the ladders deployed against a section of the wooden wall discovered that an individual in heavy armor and wielding a two-handed sword was eagerly waiting for them:

"So, you little bitches? Did we stop by on the way to talk? I hope for your sake that it was with a cemetery dealer and that you have reserved a place, my darling runts! Anyway, I have a friend who wants to meet you... "

In his hand, his ebony claymore ignited...

A few moments later, the goblins began to flow. Some even throw themselves into the void despite the stakes planted in the ditch and embankment. It could seem unbelievable that one man would trigger such a panic... But most of the people who met Estienne de Vignonne whispered that it was actually a daedra of Oblivion disguised...

* * *

The northeast gate was where the wooden wall met the cliff that dominated the harbor and under which the smugglers' caves lay.

Violent fighting was taking place there. The doors were now bristling with arrows. Many dead and dying goblins testified to fearless assaults each time repelled.

Nevertheless, the enemy did not give up. A new attack was preparing. A ram protected by a roof of solid wooden planks advanced towards the door. At the end of the chains oscillated a trunk of squared wood, the tip of which was covered with coarsely hammered steel.

Between each goblin pushing the siege machine moved another that raised a large shield to protect it.  
The Breton archers started shooting and their arrows did some damage... only, the small monsters responded with arrows volleys that forced them to duck their heads to the shelter of the battlements.  
"Fall back; I'll take care of it."

The defenders turned to the little woman who had just spoken... She seemed disarmed, but her armor, and especially her right gauntlet, was stained with blood. No one dared to contradict her, they had seen her fight. Ordinary humans would only interfere to her.

Left alone on the section of the rampart overlooking the door, Saber firmly camped, holding Excalibur in her hands. Her eyes narrowed, revealing a firm and determined mind. The wind suddenly began to swirl around the knight woman, making her hair dance, clasping her blue dress on her legs and clicking the armor blades that covered her limb.

Her _Noble Phantasm_ now appeared as a fluctuating blue light as the multiple layers of Excalibur's air sheath crumbled. The sword vibrated, transmitting its vibrations to her arms, but Saber managed to remain motionless despite the power that condensed around her:

\- O wind...

Artoria Pendragon brought the sword close to her ear while backing a foot to slit. Then, suddenly, Saber split as if she wanted to cut an opponent in front of her:

-**Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King!**

A whirlwind sprang out of the blade, like a horizontal twister that ran toward the goblins that surrounded the ram. Clods of land lifted up by the mighty blast bombarded the suddenly immobilized humanoids that were desperately raising their arms in a childish attempt to defend themselves... for the wind was forcing again... and again.

A first goblin tore itself to the ground in an overactive howl immediately swallowed by the storm. He preceded his comrades who left the ground to be projected at tens of meters of height. The ram itself could not resist. It found itself dismantled by the power of the hurricane, boards, trunk, chains, wheels, disassembled, broken, were carried away...

When Saber lowered her Excalibur - once again invisible- the debris fell. The ram was no longer a threat. As for the goblins... let's say they were much less solid than a siege machine.

* * *

Pushed back first time with heavy losses, the goblins had gathered to attack again... and be pushed back again.

The battle had been going on for four hours when the third assault saw the tractions trebuchets break down a section of the ramparts. Immediately the enemy converged through the breach. Of course, depth's defense played its part. The attackers lost people in ambushes or by attacking the barricades. Yet the trolls, the ogres, and the wolf riders overcome this resistance... even if (again) it cost them heavy losses.

The militiamen armed with spears and shields had formed a hedgehog that now painfully contained the attackers. Nevertheless, isolated and attacked by many enemies, they were only selling their skin dearly.  
However, a young-looking man, dressed in a white mage dress adorned with colored ribbons, came forward with a joyful air... about as comfortable as picking mushrooms. As trolls, ogres, and goblins turned on him, Merlin smiled:

"I'm just passing by, don't bother of me".

He held out his staff and a golden rain fell on the exhausted Bretons militiamen, closing their wounds and restoring their vigor.

The goblin leading the troupe wielded his sword and pointed it to the magician:

\- _Mllugulu garri mug duc, zaï_.

Although he did not understand a goblin word, Merlin strongly approved:

\- Yes, yes... Garry has a duke's mug! Thank you for teaching me, I didn't know it, my friend.

The humanoids had understood them and rushed towards him to kill him according to the order that their leader had given them. But none reached him... the half-incubus had hit the ground with his heavy magician's staff... and roots as thick as human arms came out of the ground to immobilize war wolves and warriors.

Merlin looked up at the top of a house transformed into a fort. He smiled at the young woman crouching on the roof:

"I leave the rest to you... His Majesty has ordered me to treat the wounded, not to take part in the fighting".  
Annoyed at having been seen while she thought herself discreet, Toksaka stood up without a word. On her right forearm, her _Magic Crest_ once again lit up, as she accessed the magical archives stored in these _Magics Circuits_ bequeathed by her ancestors:

" _Fiexiering Eile Salve!_"

The _Gandr shot_ was a runic curse among the most used by the _Magi_ of the Earth. When Rin Tohsaka used it, she could concentrate enough magic energy for the curse to become capable of physical interference, giving it a stopping power comparable to a revolver bullet. It was called a _Finn Shot_. Nevertheless, some of Rin's ancestors were even more competent than her and the "Red Devil" had just appealed to their knowledge stored in the _Crest_ of her family. Their _Finn Shot_ matched a machine gun in power and fire rate...

With her finger outstretched, she focused a veritable barrage of black projectiles haloed in red on the monsters immobilized in the roots. One after the other, they collapsed in a bloody mess...

* * *

The noise was like thunder, the goblins occupied to attack the posts of defenses bristled with stake did not pay attention to it until they got into the alley which they were trying to conquer...  
The knights in heavy shining steel armor had the invisible face behind armet helmets with visors and colored horsehair plumes. A shield with the arms of some noble house on the left arm, a lance several meters long on the right, they mounted powerful flank on steeds. Above them floated a banner showing a gauntlet squeezing a sword, all topped by a crown.

At their head, Baron Mordane Hawkstone lowered his long spear:

"For Koeglin, for Alcaire, and for the gods of Hight-Rock"

His war cry was taken to heart by his knights who charged the goblins in the mass. The spears pierced, enemies were thrown to the ground, trampled by the mounts of the gallants knights of Alcaire. Now plunged into the horde that was pouring into the fortifications, the knights dropped their useless spears to grab the weapon hanging from the hip of their saddle: axe for some, maces for others.

Leaning on the neckline of their steeds, they struck right and left, blushing the floor of goblin blood.  
The Baron de Koeglin, however, continued to shout with his sword held over his head:

"To me, to me, o my people, rally to me, for victory!"

And his men heard it. The desperate levies, the disillusioned militiamen, the surrounded mercenaries, all heard it and the courage returned to them. They launched a general counter-attack.  
The battle reached its apotheosis; everything was going to be played there.

At least they believed it...

* * *

A few hundred meters away, the Great Shaman had followed the whole battle through a crystal ball placed on a pedestal in front of his fur nest. He then leaned towards an impatient individual who was waiting for the opportunity to act:

\- Now!

The individual with grey-black skin and completely red eyes winced with a predatory smile:

\- Those dirty _N'gwah_ will pay.

And the Dunmer uttered a short magic formula, waved his staff and... disappeared... literally. At one moment he was there and the next only a whirlwind of violet energy remained. He had just activated a _Recall_ spell.

The Great Shaman Grutbug nodded slowly.

Most warlords attack their enemies from the periphery and strive to advance towards the center, which gives the enemy time to build a shell. It was silly... and as difficult as breaking a nut between two fingers.

It was unnecessary to break the outer defense of an enemy if we attack directly is core.

No one ever praised the goblin's intelligence. With good reason, most of them were complete fools... most of them, because the goblin society was pure meritocracy. Thus, to reach the rank of war leader, a goblin had to beat his predecessor in single combat and all those who would challenge him after that. However, cunning and assassination were the path of the shamans... the stupid shamans did not live long... and especially they did not become Great Shaman.

Cunning and cruel, the Great Shaman Grutbug had sacrificed thousands of his fellows' life for a mere diversion.  
Only we didn't make more selfish people than goblins. And if they were not so cowardly and weak individually, there would never have been any Goblin tribes...

* * *

Shiro swore, it rarely happened to him... He had spent the whole battle with the unpleasant impression of having forgotten something.

Then he felt a very strong _prana_ current. He had turned towards the source and strengthened his eyes to discover what was happening.

And he recognized him.

Erebel R'en, the Dark Elf mage who was supposed to be the traitor who allowed the goblins to attack the city the day before yesterday. It is true that the Hand of Glory-shaped tattoo on Erebel's cheek helped a lot, it was an infrequent feature.

The Dunmer cast had just materialized just behind Artoria. He wore a very bright yellow and orange dress and a giant insect chitin stick from Vvanderfell. On his neck was a jade amulet depicting a beetle.  
He threw a crystal sphere to the ground and whispered an incantation.

Humanoid creatures materialized. They wore black and red daedric armors and helmets depicting howling faces adorned with short curved horns and a mane of red hairs acting as hair:  
" Dremoras!"

Of all the inhabitants of the Oblivion plan, the Daedras offered the best compromise between power and discipline. People of mages, blacksmiths, and warriors, they formed the main legions of the Daedrics Princes.

* * *

Saber's instinct was like some sort of precognition. Even attacked by opponents who appeared magically behind her back, she managed to dodge the assault of the first Dremora and to jump remotely to get back on guard.

Her eyes quickly crossed the ranks of his new enemies, four individuals in armor as horrible as strangely beautiful. They all looked alike... except that each had a different weapon: a Daedric no-dashi (1), a sword and a shield, a mace and a shield, a katana... but with his left hand, the last threw a spark of fire that Artoria dodged.

Behind them was a dunmer mage, visibly their invocator.

As for her allies... the ordinary soldiers were fleeing. Nevertheless, she saw Gonderic and Estienne pull up the panicked crowd.

The no-dashi warrior went forward, this was a brief engagement, Saber's invisible sword and the long katana colliding with each other throwing sparks. As they remained blocked _in crossada_, each weighing to give way the other an electric arc arose from the two blades crossed before hitting a wall two meters away.

Seeing the opportunity to strike, the Dremora, armed with a sword and a mace, threw himself forward. Saber pivoted on a hip with the grace of a dancer, releasing his first opponent with a kick. She was planning to attack the second enemy... but not completely... her left arm covered with ice.  
Saber's mouth corner rose in a smile... she loved challenges; she was going to be served. Each opponent was stronger than a human, with weapons and enchanted armor and at least one of them used magic.

The spell caster wanted to attack, but at that moment an arrow pierced his chest. The attack was not enough to kill him, but it hurt... Above all, he ran to shelter, looking for the opponent who had attacked him.

Artoria's smile increased. She knew that the arrow had been fired by Shiro, the precision and speed exceeded anything humanly possible.

Erebel R'en, who was watching the fight, was starting to find it a little too balanced. He touched the fetish on his neck, a powerful magical object called "the Admonition Amulet". A ray of ice appeared and struck Artoria.

Saber was instantly transformed into an ice statue. The frozen case completely immobilized her and slowy drained her vital energy.

"Finish her before our enemies wake up, you fools!" Swore Erebel R'en.

The Dremoras disliked their summoner, but fate left them no choice but to obey. They approached, lifting their weapons to strike the motionless form.

However, Artoria was not defenseless. She had reincarnated herself in the flesh of a Breton girl, the race most resistant to the magic of all Tamriel, and the Dragon's Blood further amplified this gift. Her resistance to magic remained inferior to that which she had had as a Servant with a _prana_ body...  
Yes, but she had reclaimed her greatest asset...

"**Avalon**"  
The shape of Excalibur's golden sheath appeared before Saber, floating in the air. It radiated a golden light that enveloped the shroud of ice. The next moment it began to crack while a dazzling golden glow filtered through the cracks. It exploded then and Artoria appeared free, haloed of light...  
Erebel R'en swore and held out his magical staff. An impressive electric shock came out and ran towards Saber... disappearing before touching her. Because Avalon, the _Everdistant Utopia_ is a _Bonded Field_ similar to a "portable fortress" making its carrier invulnerable to all forms of _Magecraft_ and even to the _Five True Magic_.

The Dark Elf Wizard retreated, frightened...

"No mortal can... its impossible... I..."

A flock of _gandr_s struck him at that moment. The ostalium armor he wore under his dress saved his life. He recovers one hand on his injured hip, taking out a healing potion, absorbing it before turning on Rin who looked at him furiously:

"Why don't you go after a _magus_, renegade?"

* * *

As Gonderic de Bel-Amant and Estienne de Vignonne had joined the fight, the confrontation suddenly became so complex that it became impossible for an outside observer to follow. Four Dremoras and a Dunmer Mage faced Artoria, Rin, Shiro, and the two Breton knights.

Magical spells and weapons clashed in demonstrations of amazing talents and power. None of the adversaries could be described as weak and the fight brought terror and admiration to all who saw it. However...  
Saber alone had been able to play even against all opponents. Supported by her friends, the King of Knights could easily win.

After a quick exchange of blows against the Dremora armed with a sword and a shield, she blocked the assault of the one who used a no-dashi and focused on this enemy while Estienne took her previous opponent.

The Dremoras felt fear... and respect. Though cruel and contemptuous towards humans, they were honorable in their own way. Grasping his long katana with firmness, the demon of Oblivion saluted with his blade. Saber replied likewise.

With a brutal cry, the horned humanoid rushed forward in an attack, betting everything on a single movement. One might think it was a mistake... a brutal bet... In fact, it was a thoughtful choice and its only chance to win.

The Dremora understood that he had no chance of winning in a prolonged fight. Nevertheless, Artoria understood the maneuver... anticipating it with her superb instinct... and center it with taking a side step aside before making her sword whistle horizontally.

The movement, however simple, had been perfectly timed. She had struck at the moment when the opponent was unbalanced and his blade carried away was whistling in the void.

The helmeted head of the Dremora bounced in the snow as the demon fell to his knees before collapsing.

* * *

Shiro had some difficulties against the Dremora war mage. Not only was his katana poisoned- he had to thank _Structural Analyse_ for noticing it- but most of his own weapons were ineffective against him. As a daedra, it was a supernatural creature invulnerable to all weapons that were not made of mithril, ebony, adamantium, daedric or orichalcum.

Determined to fight fire with fire, he then traced the Daedric Crescent, a powerful weapon originating from the plans of Oblivion that looked like a crescent moon almost as big as a man. This weapon proscribed by the Empire recalled bad memories, especially the assault of Batlespire by the legions of Mehrunes Dagon.

It was of a strange weapon since it was necessary to hold the Crescent in the middle and fight while dancing with the blade. However, the particularity of **Unlimited Blade Work** was that Shiro can handle every weapon stored within it as if he was the original owner.

When he first struck the demonic war mage, the enemy was paralyzed as his armor corroded, defeated by the curse of the weapon.

Shiro felt slight remorse in killing the Daedra but... the reading of his katana had taught him that he was a brutal warrior who had the blood of countless innocents on his hands. In fact, the weapon itself had been forged by sacrificing one of its kinds to give it its power. Moreover, like all his peers, his death would only be temporary. One day or another, he would be reincarnated.  
Shiro raised the Daedric Crescent, creating a sphere of green light between the two blades. The light enveloped the demon who screamed before disappearing... expelled to the Outer Realms.

* * *

Fast and nimble thanks to _Reinforcement_, trained in martial arts since childhood by Kirei Kotomine himself, Rin was much more than just a _Magus_.

She whirled around Erebel R'en, assailed him from any angles, performed a backflip to send him one of her soul gem, and then fell back to the ground to move away quickly.

The Dark Elf threw fire and lightning after her, he froze the ground and created poisoned clouds... but never his spells touched the "Red Devil". She literally mocked his efforts, laughing at him as she escaped his attacks... and then punched him in the back.

He had tried to hypnotize her, to curse her... except that her _Magic Circuits_ drove his influence away under a flood of _prana_.

Erebel R'en had used all his potions of healing or magic restoration; his rings, his staff, and his amulet were discharged.

Rin had waited for this moment, she jumped... her elbow plunged into his sternum and he collapsed as if he was hurt by the charge of a rhinoceros.

* * *

The last two daedras had been held by the Brétons knights. Gonderic had wounded his enemy several times... but Estienne was rather in trouble when Shiro had arrived to cut his opponent in two. And the last demon falling, pierced by Excalibur.

The Great Shaman Grutbug had followed the confrontation in his crystal ball. Opening a box, he drew a potion and drank it. The heat that invaded him drove away for a moment the effects of age.  
Descending from his platform, Grutbug gathered a group of ogre around him and began a prayer to the god Malooc...

The Dunmers weren't the only ones who knew about teleportation. During the war against the Redguards, the goblins made ample use of this power granted to them by their god, especially to supply their besieged fortresses.

The Great Shaman Grutbug disappeared with the ogres and reappeared behind the Bretons troops fighting against the goblins coming out of the breach in the wood wall.

Leaving behind the troops he had brought, he disappeared to reappear behind one of the doors of the wooden wall.

Before the defenders recovered from the surprise, he began to dance and jump, twirling and brandishing his staff... flames came out of it. Rising, they formed a sphere that grew, grew... reaching a volume of a meter wide:

"Gash!"  
At this order, the projectile of fire fired and collided with the door. The explosion was very violent, throwing trunks, earth, and corpses in all directions. Having lifted a magic shield to protect himself, Grutbug was barely shaken. He smiled at the sight of the enormous crater which had replaced a part of the fortifications. As the smoke and dust fell, he heard the trampling of thousands of feet. Shadows came out of the clouds of ashes... the goblins entered through the second breach.

* * *

(1) Two hands Katana.


	27. Chapter 26 Victory

_From far away in mountains deep  
The night of blood in twilight sleep_

_The armies fight for king and queen  
There will be no, no victory_

_The swords collide with power and force  
As mighty men show no remorse_

_It is the time, the snow is melting  
It is the time of reckoning_

_From far away in mountains deep  
The night of blood in twilight sleep_

_The armies fight for king and queen…_

**Victory, Two Steps from Hell**

* * *

**Victory**

* * *

The smoke rising from the battlefield of Koeglin could be seen about thirty kilometers away. The column that seemed unique was actually composed of two main fireplaces and dozens of secondary fires.  
As we approached, we discovered the surroundings of the harbor where thousands of dead bodies with arrows were lying in the middle of semi-buried stone balls. The crows were turning in the sky in shouting bands. On the ground, the rats were feasting. The scavengers were the only ones to be happy in this hell...

The fighting was now concentrated around two breaches. The cries of agony, the calls, the goblin horns and the trumpets of the Bretons mingled into a barbaric symphony rhythmed by the clash of arms.  
A horrible swirl took to the throat, a mixture of smoke, ash, blood, and fear. This stench hovered over the fight; it was felt at ground level among the corpses and the dying trampled by the fighters. It mingled with the ebb and flow of the battle. It wraps in the wind swirling around the burned fortifications.

* * *

"Hold the line!"

Shoulder to shoulder, the militiamen kept their heavy iron-rimmed ash-wood shield tight against them. The shields were pinned with crow-feathered arrows and adorned with numerous cuttings. On the other hand, they held spears that they waved in small strokes.

The men were sweating, splashed with blood, breathing, and panting. They blocked a narrow alley between two combat platforms with sides hailed with incendiary strokes. At times, a man occupying them got up to shoot an arrow and put his head in while the goblins were fighting back.  
Facing them...

It was like a raging sea formed by hundreds of vociferous humanoids excited by the smell of blood. By waves, they came to throw themselves on the shields' wall formed by the Bretons. They were shooting arrows and trying to catch the spears...

A dangerous game, sometimes a Breton militiaman was draw in the mass of attackers and disappeared in an instant... More often a goblin received a spear stroke and collapsed to the ground to be trampled.

* * *

The mercenary was bareheaded, wounded in the face he had an eye that blinked constantly to get rid of the blood that flowed from his cracked eyebrow arch. On his knees, he stood in the shelter behind the screen of the combat platform. He was running over a flint lighter, his hands trembling, struggling to obey.

A spark burst suddenly and ignited the pong rag in a bottle filled with a heavy, purple liquid.  
With a smile tinged with cruel anticipation, the mercenary raised the glass vial in his hand and threw it into the goblin mass. Before lowering his head, he had time to discern the expression of terror from the humanoids. He threw himself on the wooden floor of the platform... and a heatwave passed over his head as the bottle of oil of intense fire exploded, igniting the attackers who died screaming horribly.

The mercenary stood up to contemplate his work, a circle of blackened and tangled corpses still strewn with red flames...

However, he did not have the leisure to triumph. A monster sprang at his side. The Durzog clumsily received himself on the narrow platform. One of its legs and the left side of its mouth bore horrible burns. Unfortunately, it was not in agony, just crazy with pain! It threw itself on its torturer who knew a brief moment of terror before the sauroid tore his head off, relentlessly shredding the corpse before straightening itself screaming its joy.

* * *

Caught in the mass of combatants, the goblin witches were hideous creatures with thin, threadlike bodies, dressed in herds. Their big heads were capped with leather caps leaving their long ears free. In their hands, they held long staffs made of badly cut wood, hair and feathers stuck with black glue.  
Their magic was just as primitive...

They were shaking their staff whispering incantations and a whirlwind full of ice was forming. Falling on the human archers who still hold this part of the rampart and who shot the goblins below.  
The "Blizzard" spell froze the defenders, making them retreat while shivering. Some vacillated and collapsed, emptied of all heat. Ruthlessly, the witches continued to attack... until the defenders were all immobilized. Lying down, crawling, curled up, or holding out their hands, they had turned into ice statues glistening in the sun.

* * *

It was a brute wearing a fur loincloth. The humanoid monster was three meters tall and his skin was dirty white, his head round and stupid. He opened a slimy mouth to grumble, lifting up a wooden club.  
He struck his opponent. The knight in plate armor and his steed were lifted from the ground and fell to the ground in a tortured metal crash and the morbid whining of a dying horse.

Although wounded, Mordane Hawkstone straightened out.

"Iron Will"

A wave of energy passed through him, strengthening his courage.

"Balyna's Balm"

Blue light swirled around him. As his wounds closed, the Baron of Koeglin cast a third spell on himself:  
"Nimbleness"  
The blow that the colossus intended for him sank into the ground, Mordane having dodged thanks to the boost of his agility. Yet, as he rushed into contact, he resorted once again to magic:  
"Orc's strength"

Briefly haloed with a green glow, the knight rushed into contact and struck the ogre in the leg. He managed to cut off the foot of the monster that swung to the side. As the giant twisted with pain on the ground, Mordane finished him by sticking his sword in his eye.

Breathless, the Baron of Koeglin lifted the visor of his helmet to look around him...  
Everywhere his men on horseback or on foot faced ogres, trolls, goblins, and wolves' riders... the enemy was still twice as numerous as them, despite his heavy losses. Exhausted, lacking arrows and oil of intense fire, the Bretons was losing... Soon they would collapse.  
Suddenly, golden light spread on the battlefield. Surrounding the defenders, it rose from the ground and ascended towards the sky...

Baron Mordane Hawkstone, like all his men, felt his fatigue fly away as his wounds closed.

* * *

Standing on a roof, Merlin stood with his staff raised. He smiled...

"After throwing a "buff" on his allies, throw a "debuff" on your enemies. This is the basis of support..."  
The magic staff of the Magician of Flowers was crowned with a sinister blue and violet light. This glow spread across the battlefield, enveloping the humanoids.

Content with him, the magician took a pose worthy of an idol:

"For any support from a hero team or army, ask for Merlin, guaranteed quality. To contact Merlin, type WWW dot merlin caldea dot av, price of a normal call, free quote".

* * *

A few roofs away, Shiro took the time to sigh after the Wizard of Flowers who was doing his little act. Artoria must have been a saint for not killing her teacher when she could...

He held Archer's large black bow in his left hand and held out the other to grab an arrow that had just materialized. The projectile flew away. He put a second arrow to the string... a third... a fourth... His gestures followed one another with the purity of a _Kyudo_(1) adept but executed at superhuman speed. No ordinary human could follow all his movements.

In the midst of the battle between knights and ogres, a shower of arrows fell unexpectedly on the colossi armed with clubs. Most of the audience would have sworn that a dozen shooters had just fired... not a single teenager in a red cape.

The effect was striking. The rain of projectiles swept the giants, starting from the right and going to the left. Each arrow poked itself in a monster's eye or mouth, penetrating to the brain. Before the last arrow was fired, the first monster waved on his legs and collapsed on one knee. Too stupid to realize he was dead, he was foolishly looking at the blood flowing down his face and chest. Then he groaned and fell facedown before the other ogres who, one after the other collapsed at his side.

* * *

Like all the defenders of Koeglin, Tohsaka felt fatigue giving up his body. As an experienced _Magus_, she felt the power and complexity of the spell that had just touched all living allies. Magic worthy of the Magician of Flowers...

Her _Magic Circuits_ having absorbed some of the energy that had just been offered to her, she leaped on a defense platform overlooking the second breach. Here too the fighting reached the height of the violence. Although weakened by Merlin, the enemies were very numerous and grouped in a restricted space...

The evil smile that played for a moment on her lips would have frightened any spectator unfortunate enough to see the "Red Devil" preparing to attack.

Plunging a hand under her skirt, the young woman removed some soul gems from the bag attached to her thigh.

She glanced down at the goblins trying to break the defenses. Then Rin lifted a hand with a small crystal between each phalanx. With a sharp gesture she sent them over the crowd of enemies:

"_Gewicht, um zu vendoppel ung!"_

Each soul gem turned into silver light that fell back to the ground...

Rin threw herself on the floor of the defense station, her hands on her ears. There were several violent explosions that made the platform tremble, opening craters, projecting earth, stones, smoke, and... corpses to heaven!

The heiress of the Tohsaka stood up to watch the devastation she had caused. A modern artillery salvo would have done no more damage...

A drop of sweat slipped on her cheek, while she pretended to be perfectly happy with the result: "Well, the assault is repelled. Perfect, as always!"

But in fact, her complexion turned green in view of the massacre... and a voice that was that of reason murmured her: "Rin, you have very slightly... exaggerated..."

Only a reflex saved her life. From the corner of her eye, the _Magus_ in red had seen a movement in the smoke. Her legs crossed by the blue lines of the _Reinforcement_ made her perform a phenomenal leap. Behind her, a fireball disintegrated the defense platform... killing several soldiers too close. Even as she flips in the air, she dispatched a handful of soul gems in the attacker's direction.

The explosions were intercepted by a series of magical shields.

Crouching on the roof where she had landed, Rin looked at her opponent and her eyes narrowed. The goblin, dressed in wolf's fur, the face covered in war paint shone with a disturbing power. She couldn't know, but it was the Great Shaman Grutbug.

The enemy was already starting his attack.

An electric arc from his hand swept the roof and Rin sacrificed one of her most powerful spiritual gems:

"_Spiegel aus einem Shalidor!_"

A shield of light adorned with a magic rune appeared before the hand of the Magus. There was a violent shock when the lightning struck the protection and Tohsaka moaned supporting her arm with one hand so as not to collapse. Pushed back by Shalidor's powerful magic mirror, the spell bounced and hit whoever threw it.

Grutbug was however hardly shaken being under "spell absorption".

Rin gnashed her teeth... the fight promised to last and goblins now converged on her.

However, a blue and silver figure suddenly jumped over a tall palisade.

All eyes turned to the very beautiful young woman with her hair gathered in a braid wrapped in the back of her skull. The wind swirled furiously around the invisible sword in her right hand and her armor was stained with blood.

Several goblins were between her and the Great Shaman.

Saber twirled, jumped, welding Excalibur into a deadly dance. The pebbles gushed under her leaps as the knight woman slit or made crushing blows around her... the goblins fell, cut down like wheat by the reaper, unable to hold her even for a moment.

Grurtbug turned to the King of Knights and fired a flash of fire that she dodged a slight side leap, without even slowing down her race. She took her momentum on her calling foot and her dress swirled around her like the corolla of a flower dancing in the wind.

Artoria Pendragon fell back four steps behind the Great Shaman her invisible blade lowered to the ground...  
Grutbug looked at the head of his stick, which had just fallen to the ground. A moment later, he screamed with rage as a bloody line appeared on his chest, from shoulder to hip...  
He collapsed into two parts...

* * *

With the death of their Great Shaman, the spell of Aura of Courage that enveloped the goblins collapsed... the humanoids who fought fiercely the moment before threw their weapons to start running. The knights and infantrymen went after them killing everyone they caught.

* * *

With her hands crossed on her invisible sword, Artoria Pendragon stood in the midst of the corpses. The wind made snowflakes dance around her. Little by little, winter draped its white shroud over the dead. The swords planted in the ground and the torn standards accentuated the macabre aspect of this scene. Saber's elegant face showed no emotion, but she stared towards the setting sun. The King of Knights raised her left hand before her, looking at the heavy metal gauntlet stained with blood, opening and closing her fist.

Once again...

But this time she was not at the top of a hill...

Once again she had fought and won.

Once again, her heart contained no joy... just an immense weariness.

War is an ineffective way to resolve conflicts. She could talk about it at leisure. Despite all his victories, King Arthur had never brought peace to Britain.

"I know that expression... Wouldn't you be going back to your pretty head with dull and useless thoughts?"  
Blinking, Artoria found herself facing Rin. The teenager lifted a finger to place it between her friend's eyes, making her mechanically step back. As often the tone of the _Magus_ was as authoritative as that of a school teacher and Tohsaka spoke as if she had invented the concept of "guilt":

"Asking if we could have done better is probably a quality. But there is no point in the present situation. So give me the pleasure of coming out of your depression and looking around..."

With her hand, Tohsaka showed the survivors of Koeglin's army. Far from feeling sorry for themselves or mourning the dead, they threw themselves into each other's arms to celebrate their victory. The only ones who cried, cried tears of joy.

"We saved these people. Without our arrival, they would have died. So yes, we probably could have done better... but I find it incredible that we were so successful."

A perfectly evil smile passed over Rin's lips...

"Actually, no, that's normal. You're the best knight in history. Shiro is... Shiro" She shrugged as to say that he was out of categories, then pressed a hand between her breasts. "And I am Rin Tohsaka, a _Magecraft_ genius. So, for the three of us, defeating an army is not a problem."

Saber smiled, shaking her head slightly, amused and tolerant of her friend's arrogance. However, despite this, Rin was right. Without their arrival, the fate of the port of Koeglin would not have been much disputed... finally, their arrival and the collapse of the tunnel. They had been lucky, very lucky (2).  
Artoria dissipated Excalibur and her armor stained with blood. They disappeared in golden _prana_ particles. Wearing only the gold-clad blue dress she wore on a white petticoat and soft leather boots, the King of Knights took Rin by the shoulders and hug her.

Several soldiers turned to the two girls, softened by the image of Saber putting her cheek against Rin's one... and amused by the young _Magu_s suddenly turned as red as her turtleneck sweater.  
\- Thank you, Rin!

The _Magus_ was probably very touched by this outpouring of tenderness... However, we were talking about Rin. She got away, crossing her arms and turning her head sideways before posting a pout:

\- Oh? " Thank you, Rin!" You suddenly seem to forget that I am manipulative, stingy, and authoritarian. I am honored, Saber!

Of course, the young Tohsaka would not forget so quickly what Artoria had said to the baron of Koeglin to "excuse" her cold, hostile and contemptuous attitude.

The King of Knights was not disturbed; accustomed that she was to the behavior of Rin:

\- Yes, but I love you because you care about others, you are honorable and above all... you are our lovely Rin, aren't you, Shiro?

As she turned around to discover the Amber Eyes Blacksmith, Tohsaka seemed to freeze on the spot, a drop of sweat running down her cheek. Shiro had followed the whole conversation... the _Magus_ felt so embarrassed that she would have hid in a mouse hole if she had found one.

As usual, this idiot understood nothing of what she felt and added:

-Yes, we love you, Rin. I have admired you almost as long as my memory goes back. And I admit that discovering your true personality behind the mask of "Miss Perfect" made me a real shock... but in fact, if I admired this Tohsaka, it's the real Tohsaka (the one in front of me) that I love.

And this big idiot Shiro said that with this nice little smile that left no doubt on his sincerity... He believed every word! She was going to die of embarrassment! But at the same time, Rin felt overwhelmed by a wave of heat as her heart beat so hard that he could have come out of her chest. So that was being in love...

\- _Baka_!

Wild with anger, a fist raised above her head, her temple wrinkled with frustration, Tohsaka seemed about to hit Shiro Emiya... But those who knew her could not fail to note that her voice was muffled, her cheeks were the color of the incarnate, and her eyes avoided the red-haired boy.

Shiro scratched his cheek with a bit annoyed not knowing how to react. Nevertheless, his eyes were laughing, and, as he saw it in the eyes of Artoria, his former Servant was struggling not to laugh.  
Tohsaka gathered the pieces of her dignity into pieces, casting a bad look at the soldiers who were watching them. Fortunately, the whole conversation had taken place in Japanese...

She turned at once and grabbed Artoria by the hand:

"Well, that's all very well, but we're not going to stand here all night. There are still millions of things to do! Come on, Saber!

Her shoulders twirled in a suspicious manner, the King of knights allowed herself to be pulled by the _Magus_, which advanced straight ahead, without looking right and left, walking with a brisk step.

Artoria addressed a bright smile to the red-haired boy and reached out her free hand:

"Shiro!"  
An expression of serene joy appeared on the face of the Amber Eyes Hero, as he ran to catch up with the woman he loved... no, the women he loved.

* * *

Mordane Hawkstone shook his head shared between fun and a bit of irritation. He was married and happy as a couple... yet seeing Shiro Emiya with his two young women made him feel a sudden jealousy. Given the expression of the soldiers of Koeglin and Verandia present around them, his feeling was widely shared.

"Does he at least account for his luck?"

"Absolutely, Baron"

Mordane turned to Merlin. Contrary to his habit, the Wizard of Flowers displayed a dreamy expression. He slowly agreed:

"But before you envy him, learn that Shiro Emiya has gone through hell to deserve the love of my king and young Tohsaka."

A mischievous expression passed over Merlin's face as he bent over to whisper in Mordane's ear:  
"Shiro is the mortal with the strangest destiny I have ever seen. In multiple realities, he has faced formidable threats far beyond what a human should face. Each time, he fought... with the help of young women... naturally beautiful girls and never ordinary ones: legendary heroines, powerful _magi_, royal princesses, demon girls, goddesses... All alternative versions of Shiro Emiya have two things in common: Overcoming extraordinary trials... and being the most envied individual in the universe in question!"

The Baron of Koeglin looked critically at the magician, wondering if this was a new joke. Then he sighed... strangely, this time, the Breton lord believed him. However, he preferred to change the subject. With a gesture, Mordane showed the trio walking away hand-in-hand:

"I'm surprised you didn't take advantage of the situation for one of your jokes."

Merlin had a sad little smile:

"I'd rather stick a rusty nail in my hand than be the one to break this moment of happiness. You know, I don't remember seeing my king so happy... Even as a child, Artoria has never been so fulfilled, Shiro and Rin are the best that's happened to Artoria since... ever, actually."

Mordane understood that Merlin really loved his "king"...

"Why do you always call her "Your Majesty" or "My King"? She is a woman and by her own admission, of low birth."

Merlin had the proud smile of a father for his child:

"One day you too will call her "Your Majesty"."

The baron opened his mouth to answer but changed his mind. On many occasions, he had visited Alcaire and the court of the "King of the Islands", a resounding title for the sovereign of one of the smallest states of High-Rock, smaller than some counties. The bearer of the title was a moron and a complete incompetent who demanded servile behavior from everyone and became angry if he was treated below his rank.

In his first encounter with Artoria Pendragon, Mordane had been unable to speak made mute by admiration for her beauty... but even more for the calm assurance that radiated from her. In the battle, everyone had turned to her to receive orders. Artoria had shown solid knowledge of the art of war, but also of the etiquette of nobles. Although she was a "knight", she had behaved as expected from a king... not a pathetic king like the idiot who sat on the throne of Alcaire... before the orcs razed the city and stuck his head on a spike. The only good thing they've done since the beginning of the Great Invasion.

The Baron of Koeglin nodded slowly:

"On the day she is consecrated... king, I will lay my sword at her feet".

A baron had an obligation only to a king who would lend himself to his feudal duty to protect his feuds. The king of Alcaire had died proving his inability to carry out the duties of his office and this left him free to swear an oath to another monarch... And he knew no one more deserving than Artoria to receive his sword. King Artoria had saved his city and his people.

* * *

_Rex quodam, Rex que futuram_

The King (Arthur) reigned, he will reign.

(Inscription on Arthur's grave, according to _La Morte d'Arthur_ of Mallory)

* * *

(1) Japanese archery.

(2) Napoleon said: "Soldiers prefer lucky generals to talented generals. And they are right". He also said: "The best battle plans can fail by bad luck, the worst can succeed by chance". The battle of Koeglin is a perfect illustration of this principle. Artoria, Rin, and Shiro arrived at the time of the tunnel collapse, just in time to counter the main goblin attack. But luck does not exist on Tamriel... Fate is controlled by the _Bones of the Earth_ or _Ehlnofey_, the spirits of the first mortal race having populated Nirn. The _Ehlnofeys_ are minor entities but they are responsible for all these "coincidences" that are at the heart of The Elders Scrolls series. Thus a prisoner was found in the cell where the secret passage allowing the Emperor to leave the Imperial City was. (Oblivion) or to another unknown prisoner sharing the cart of Ulfric Sombrage (Skyrim). The first became the Hero of Kvatch and closed the doors of Oblivion, the second was none other than the Dragonborn.


	28. Chapter 27 The Bloody Hills

**The Bloody Hills**

* * *

In this steep valleyed region, a tumultuous river crossed a gorge in a succession of waterfalls. On both banks, oaks, elms, ash and poplars stripped by the winter spread their bare branches among the cliffs, rocks and steep hills.

It was snowing a little. Snowflakes were dancing in the freezing wind that was blowing in those hills. The ground and branches of the trees were covered with a white mantle. Even the bark was clad with snow in a northerly direction, from where the bleak midwinter came.

Transformed by winter, the white landscape was of a confounding beauty. Nevertheless, the fairies of the cold and the wind had made their masterpiece by sculpting ice pendants in the waterfalls. Each stalactite was a real artist creation, similar to a spun glass making.

* * *

One would imagine such a landscape devoted to peace and contemplation...

It was not so...

It was a battlefield.

* * *

A foot crushed a branch fallen to the ground. Other feet trampled the virgin snow, turning it into the mud... A troop ran among the trees of the forest. One could hear their groaning breath. Humanoids with green skin, their open mouth unveiled canines similar to those of pigs while their slant eyes were illuminated with a yellow and orange glow. Tall, heavily built, they wore chainmail, leather, or fur armor under which powerful muscles rolled. Some went bare head, others had helmets with horns. All had a steel sword or an axe in one hand, and a circular shield on the other arm.

They arrived at the edge of a cliff overlooking the river. Other orcs were there, sheltered by trees and bushes, they wielded big bows and exchanged fire with opponents below... a fight that did not turn to their advantage!

An orc archer was take off from the ground and struck a tree behind him, pinned by an arrow made of translucent _prana_.

Their leader, recognizable by his orichalcum armor and his heavy axe of the same green metal, encouraged his warriors, pointing to the bottom of the slope of an imperious movement:

"Go, by Malacath, attack! We are more numerous than pink skins, better armed and above all, we are the best warriors of Tamriel! No one can beat an orc! My children (1) tear them to pieces! "

That speech was exactly what the orcs liked to hear. Strong words, like their people, ruthless words, laced with long anger, and centuries-old hatred. For too long, orcs have been suffering. Pushed back to the inhospitable mountains, their children died of hunger and cold, while the Bretons occupied the coastal plains conducive to culture and trade.

The trail that the Orc warriors were following was down to the river, which it crossed by a narrow bridge before joining the Dwynmen Highway. The region was on the border between the kingdom of Alcaire and the duchy of Phrygios, it was the most westerly territory to have been conquered by orcs during the Great Invasion.

The Bretons' victory at Koeglin now made it a disputed country. For the first time since the beginning of the invasion, seven months earlier, humans had taken over the initiative. No longer content with defending the lands they still controlled, they now sought to take back what the orcs had taken from them.  
Except, of course, the orcs wouldn't let themselves be. They were brave, powerful, and numerous, and the enemy counter-attack amounted to a small band of two hundred of these ridiculous Bretons!  
Victory would be easy... at least it was supposed to be.

Because the truth is...

* * *

Shiro shot so fast that the eye could not follow his movements. His arrows were flying, one after the other, and sowing death among the orc archers who had ambushed them. The Amber's eyes Hero alone failed the ambush on the Breton's left flank.

It was, however, only one of the shooting stations overlooking the river that had dug the valley, allowing the passage of a paved road traced by the Legions of the Tamriel Empire. Almost opposite, the orcs had settled on a rocky plateau, an ideal position that allowed them to cross their shots with those of their comrades. Fortunately, this position was uncovered and the archers of the small expedition had spotted the orcs shooters as they took up position, inflicting heavy casualties. Nevertheless, Verandia's expedition was in a delicate situation.

Artoria Pendragon's small army had been struggling for two days in this mountainous region. The coastal road was fiercely defended. Ambush and counter-attack succeeded each other. There, they sought to seize a barricade that cut the road to Dwynmen. Unable to maneuver in this narrow valley, Saber had launched a frontal attack that had started well... until troops of archers appeared on both sides. At present, orc warriors even launched counter-attacks at several points of the column. Placed at the top of the slopes, the green skins rolled bundles of fiery old cloth, threw rocks, before rushing to attack, grouped into powerful phalanges bristled with spears or halberds.

The air was full of war cries, arrows, and the noise of the enemy's war drums.

Shiro let Archer's bow scatter in blue _prana_ moths.

"_I'm the bone of my sword_"

Kanshou and Bakuya, the twin blades appeared in his hands. He did not have to worry about the north flank; Merlin had just invoked roots as thick as human arms. Rising from the ground, they enveloped the orcs that charged, immobilizing them and delivering them defenseless to the Breton archers suddenly boosted by a support's spell cast by the Magician of Flowers. However, on the left, a confrontation rages on the deck of the bridge. The soldiers of Verandia resisted, advantaged by the narrowness of the passage. However, they suffered...

Shiro Emiya ran this way. Once again his heart pressed him to help people in distress. However, even before he reached them, a whirlwind of violet energy formed on their riverbank. From it emerged a skeleton armed with a steel shield and a silver axe. The undead wanted to attack back the Bretons, but the Amber-Eyed Blacksmith reaped it, with a neglect move of his blade.

An orc shaman must have invoked this undead. If he did not neutralize her quickly, she would continue to summon creatures. Rin's voice rose from the spiritual gem Shiro wore around his neck, like a pendant. It was a _Mystic Code_ created by his friend. It made it possible to communicate with her. At the center of the small army, the _Magus_ focused on controlling several familiars that flew over the battlefield:

"Shiro the summoner is on the other side. You see the tree grove on the right of the bridge?" The Amber-Eyed Hero nodded "Yes, I see, is that where she is?" "Exactly!"

Shiro threw his twin blades in the direction of the orcs. Swirling, they mowed several attackers before dissipating. The redhead then focused on a weapon he wanted to test since Artoria had shown him his memories of that sword.

He inspired and exhaled very rapidly, reaching out. His _Magic Circuits_ lit up on both his arms. Electric arcs appeared in front of his fingers, showing a blurred shape. Shiro tightened his teeth. Sweat trickled down his face as he strove to shape the weapon that rested inside **Unlimited Blade Work**.

_"Steel is my body and fire is my blood"_

_"I have created over a thousand blades"_

In the third verse of his incantation, the pre-projection process was completed. Like a crystallizing thought, the two-handed sword materialized. It was the culmination of the _Tracing_ process, the _Magecraft_ whose mystery was the exclusivity of Shiro Emiya... from all versions of Shiro, in fact. The long sword was white, except for handle and part of the strong of the blade which was blue, as the extreme point. This sword was heavy, with a simple and massive design, especially at the level of the triangular guard.

According to legend, the weapon was forged by incorporating the pieces of Caliburn, the broken sword of Artoria. This was the sword of Sir Gawain, the Sun Knight.

Shiro did not take the time to dwell on the history of this weapon. He had more urgent to do:  
"_Your will. My holy sword is the embodiment of the sun. Under the king's command, I will burn all on the surface of the ground_."

The Amber-Eyed Blacksmith threw the weapon into the sky.

"_The blade of this sacred sword is a copy of the sun itself. Holy sword of the stars, swing once again!"_  
A small sun appeared where the sword burst into beams of golden light, radiating powerful and warm rays. From it was born a pillar of fire that fell before Shiro. The reincarnated young Japanese grasped it as if it were the sword itself. Invoking the name of the Noble Phantasm to liberate its strength:

"**Excalibur Galatine**!"

As the blade of fire fell to the ground, the horrified orcs raised their arms... but nothing could resist the solar fire. A raw, unbearable light enveloped them... then the gigantic, disproportionate sword touched the ground of the hill, causing the trees to explode, incinerating them in an instant. The river boiled, spewing clouds of steam.

When the blinding brilliance dissipated, there remained only a long trench dug in the hills. The black-sided breach still glowed with multiple fires that spewed black smoke into the sky. The river was now spreading in the lower part of the smoking scar, filling it up to create a small elongated lake.

There was nothing left of the orcs that had stood there. Right now, a few hundred of them had been cremated.  
Shiro swallowed... aware of the massacre he had just caused.

However, the orcs war horns sounded the retreat and the reincarnated Japanese shivered to see the enemies ebbing away with frightened glances. The teenager thought that he had shortened the confrontation and finally saved hundreds of lives, however, he would relive for a long time this scene of carnage...

* * *

Artoria Pendragon let down her invisible blade. Orcs retreated in good order, without panicking. Some elements covered the others retreating while their archers continued to shoot at her forces. Having spent years on the battlefield, King Arthur slowly acquiesced... Far from their reputation as barbarians barely able to differentiate the right from the left, the green-skinned warriors were organized and clearly knew the practices of the art of war.

Faced with the power that Shiro had just liberated, the hearts of most would have broken with fear. Abandoning their weapons and their shields, they would have fled with all the strength of their leg and would have ceased to run only at the end of endurance.

Nevertheless, the orcs were of a different kind. Even faced with the unimaginable power of a Noble Phantasm, they showed no fear. Such courage could only inspire respect for a knight of Artoria Pendragon's stature.

"Do not pursue the enemy in the hills, it may be a trap! Stay in formation and follow me, we must secure the enemy camp."

The soldiers of Verandia did not argue. For two months Artoria had been leading them, they had become aware that the young woman always made the right decisions in battle. Even reduced to a band of fewer than two hundred men, they remained confident, magnetized by the charisma of their young leader.

Flanked by Gonderic de Bel-Amant and Baron Estienne de Vignonne, both of whom had fought alongside her during the assault on the orc barricade, Saber advanced cautiously. Attentive, she looked through the rough fortifications. **Strike Air** had allowed her to open several gaps in the dam of fallen trunks and barrels filled with stones. Beyond, the camp of the invaders extended. However, the only orcs she saw were corpses lying on the ground.

In her footsteps, the Bretons invaded the other side of the embankment, which had been planted with stakes. The orc cantonment had nothing luxurious, simple tents of hides planted in a circle around campfires. Here and there boxes and bags contained food, while barrels supplied the drink.  
Artoria approved of a movement of the chin.

Despite the rumors that the Bretons spreading on their hereditary enemies, the orcs were not anthropophagi, they hunted, raised and cultivated like humans. So anything they ate could be safely consumed... although it is only dried meat, grey bread, and bad beer! It must be said that orcs had no culinary culture. They simply roasted or boiled their food, knowing only salt for a single seasoning, ignoring sauces like spices. A very depressing thought for Saber, she could no longer live without the dishes lovingly concocted by her lover.

"Hunger is the enemy."

She often repeated this maxim to Shiro... certainly, to legitimize her quenchless appetite. But this expression reflected the reality of any war. The good spirit of a soldier was in his stomach.

"Take away every food you can carry, destroy the rest!"

It was at least as important for the small army to seize abandoned supplies as to deprive the enemy and thus weaken them.

"Lady Artoria?"

Saber turned to the one who had just called her. It was a sergeant-at-arms accompanying a black-skinned man who could only be a Redguard. The soldier saluted:

"Lady Artoria, we found this individual tied up and gagged in one of the tents."

Saber more carefully detailed the man who had just been delivered. Still young, he was clean-shaven and wore boiled leather armor on a green tunic. A cape of the same color wrapped him. The Redguard bowed eagerly:

"My name is Nasrir, I am a Kynareth's Druid. I have lived in this valley with my wife for two years now. My house is a little north of here. A week ago, the orcs settled here and captured us... I was separated from my Gwenda. Please find her."

"Gwenda? Is that your wife's name?"

The man named Nasrir agreed:

"Yes, a Breton I married five years ago."

A hand placed on his chest, Artoria bowed slightly forward:

"Rest sure. I, Artoria Pendragon, swear on my knighthood honor to do everything in my power to find Gwenda."

* * *

"... according to her husband, the orcs took Gwenda to the hills south of the river. Since you are the closest, Saber asks you to go and see."

Shiro nodded when he heard Rin's voice coming up from the soul gem he was wearing like a necklace.  
"All right, tell Saber I'll take care of it."

There was a silence and then...

"Take care of yourself... no... not that I care, but I don't want to have to tell Saber that you killed yourself trying again to be a hero like the idiot you are."

Shiro smiles at the embarrassed explanation of his tsundere friend.

"Thanks for caring, Rin."

"It's... it's normal to care about your ally. You... you... are an important asset to our army, so don't risk your life carelessly."

After the conversation, Shiro strengthened his muscles and bones before running up the path that had allowed the orcs to attack. As lively as the wind, he leaped from one tree to another, attentive to any bad encounter. Well, he took it... there were always orcs in the hills, a rearguard to watch the movements of the Bretons.

He dodged two arrows from the edge of the trees and turned to the warriors in armor who came out to meet him:

"_Trace On._"

The words, hardly more than a whisper, had just left Emiya's lips than the pair of Chinese sabers he preferred materialized between his fingers. The sequel was a dazzling demonstration of fencing. Shiro's fighting style was not as graceful as the art of Artoria's sword. He handled the married blades with brutal efficiency, striking the weak points of the armor of his enemies, not hesitating to throw one of his weapons to hit an enemy in the back, or jumping undercover to run to an opponent away.

Courageously, the orcs faced without an idea of retreat... and perished until the last.  
Rid of his opponents, the Amber-Eyed Blacksmith set out again. Twice, he faced other orcs. Like the first group, they sought to stop him with little more success, even if a shaman with magical staff participated in one of the fights.

Shiro Emiya was simply too fast and agile for these clumsy orcs. Soon the last opponent collapsed into a pool of blood.

The magus had attacked this group in a small camp well concealed by trees and bushes. The hide tents were on a rocky ridge overlooking the river. From this point on, there was an excellent view of the road, which explains why the orcs had set up an observation post there.

He also found a young woman tied up and cut off her ties:

"Are you Gwenda?"

"Yes, it's me... how do you know my name? Who are you?"

The red-haired teenager smiles:

"My name is Shiro, your husband sent me to find you."

"I don't know how to thank you. I can't offer you anything in compensation; we're poor people, just druids."  
But Emiya simply shook his head without ceasing to smile:

"Helping others is a sufficient reward."

Gwenda looked at his savior with an expression of incomprehension... which Shiro was accustomed to.

* * *

Twice more, before the sun sets, Artoria's small army was attacked. Nevertheless, these new ambushes were turned against the killer whales thanks to the help of the druid couple. They use their knowledge of the region to guide counter-attacks by paths ignored by the invaders.

* * *

The night had nothing peaceful.

Orc commandos crept several times on the outskirts of the camp. Unfortunately for them, the Bretons sentries that surrounded it were mostly there out of habit. The real defense of their cantonment was a _Bounded Field_. Before each attack, a chime sounded warning the defenders of the assault, while the arrows broke helplessly against a curtain of reddish energy. The sentinels supplied with night vision potions then had only to retaliate and drill with arrows the powerless opponents.

Gonderic de Bel-Amant shook his head. With Estienne de Vignonne, he was one of the six "heroes" who were the hope of Verandia's expedition, the only reason why ordinary militiamen did not despair of being isolated in these hills amidst countless enemies.

However, they were not up to real heroes like Artoria Pendragon, Shiro Emiya or Rin Tohsaka (who had created the _Bounded Field_ protecting the camp). Gonderic had been traveling with them for over two months and now knew their history... they came from another world and were reincarnated to counter Angra Mainyu.

Merlin was an even more impressive being. The knight glanced at the Magician of Flowers, warming his hands at a fire. He did not need to sleep, so he walked the camp every night to participate in the defense.  
Tohsaka had explained to Gondéric what a "Heroic Spirit" was. The idea made him shiver... Besides a dragon, a Daedric Prince or a god who could fight a "Servant"?

Merlin turned and gave him a smile that made the knight of Verandia shiver. Gonderic rushed to the big tent in the center of the camp before the magician decided to make one of his horrible jokes.  
Lifting the piece of cloth forming the entrance to the pavilion of canvas, the knight of Bel-Amant had to force himself to contain the feeling of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm him.

On the ground, blankets and sheets were crumpled discovering... more than covering, three bodies tightly entwined. Shiro was in the center, Artoria was nestled against him, an arm passed around his shoulders. On the left, mirrored by the other woman, Rin had her head on the boy's chest. But her hand extended farther touched the arm of the woman-knight, as if to make sure that she was there and that she would not abandon her.

The faces of the three sleeping teenagers reflected peace and affection. Gonderic sighed as he remembered something his mother once told him. You don't lie in your sleep. No one could deny the love that united these three young people after seeing them like this. It was adorable and part of him felt warmth and tenderness watching them... But another part he was not particularly proud of became irritated!

It was not that Gonderic was particularly attracted to Tohska or Artoria... at least more than a normal man could be attracted by two young women as beautiful. However, at times like this, the knight wanted to scream "Why him and not me?"... In fact, it was a kind of universal reaction that could be called the "Shiro effect".

Hesitating to wake up the trio, Gonderic de Bel-Amant saw Artoria beating his eyelids and straightening herself, pinning the sheet on her chest. Although just awake, her voice was as clear as in the middle of the battle:

"I offer you good morning, Sire Knight. Is it dawn already?

The son of the new Duke of Verandia approved with a nod:

"Indeed, Lady Artoria. I have come to wake you... though it pains me to disturb your rest."

Rubbing her eyes with one hand, Saber suspended her movement to watch Shiro stretch. A gentle smile appeared on her lips... An expression she had only when she looked at her lover or their friend.  
"In my heart is inscribed the selfish vow to remain in their arms for eternity" Artoria's expression suddenly hardens. "Nevertheless, Sir Knight, it will wait... We have a war to win." She had a low laugh" And waking Rin will take me an hour."

* * *

The fourth day of travel in the hills west of Alcaire was not without enemy assaults. In fact, the first ambush had been laid on a plateau to which the Imperial Way was going. While the orc infantry stationed at the top of the climb sought to contain Artoria, Gonderic, and Estienne charging at the head of a hundred fighters, Archers were shooting at the Bretons from the top of the cliff... to be decimated by Shiro's arrows and Rin's Finn Shots.

Busy throwing "buffs" at his allies, treating them, and using "debuffs" on his enemies, Merlin shook his head. He no longer counted the number of orc attacks that turned into complete disarray. Yet the humanoids continued to harass them, as to fortify every place favorable to the defense. Again and again and again... their stubbornness went beyond simple courage. It began to seem abnormal to him.  
Above all, it was completely vain...

In the front row of the Bretons, Artoria Pendragon brought her invisible sword to her ear. A bluish aura fluttered around her, mingling with a golden glow that filtered from the inside of Excalibur's air sheath:  
"**Starlight Divergence**!"

Five wind cones were born from Excalibur, each enveloping a discharge of energy. In the narrow mountain path, they were the equivalent of a cataclysm. The orcs entrenched on the ridge were thrown into the void, shredded by explosions or bombarded with rocks falling from the cliff. A massacre...  
Merlin shook his head and struck the ground with his stick, bringing out roots from the ground that immobilized the survivors... quickly riddled with arrows by their archers.

Yes, such tactics were completely useless against them. Mass attacks of ordinary warriors could only lead to sacrificing many people without results. His king could kill a thousand warriors all by himself, armed with Excalibur. Moreover, her _prana_ armor made her almost invulnerable to ordinary attacks.

The rocky plateau was occupied by a village... the houses were reduced to collapsed walls, charred frames. The only intact building was the chapel of Syrabane (2). A woman in white and golden dress stood on the threshold, greeted them, and then lowered her hood, revealing the golden skin and pointed ears of a High Elf:

"Welcome to Brass Moor, or what's left of it, liberators of Alcaire." On one hand, she pointed to the ruins of the village. "My name is Eldacaraima. I am the priestess of Syrabane."

Saber, who was riding at the head of the column, pulled on the reins of her horse and bowed:

"I am Artoria pendragon, knight of the Order of the Rose, captain of this company of the army of the Duke of Verandia."

If to hear that a knight of Menevi was at the head of an army of a country on the other side of Hight-Rock surprised the priestess, she did not show it. On the contrary, the Aldmer agreed:  
"Lady Pendragon, the orcs respected the chapel of my god. But they only freed me so that I would be their messenger. The inhabitants of this village were captured by the orcs when they took the area a month ago. Many have died as a result of abuse. The tribe shaman turned the dead into zombies or ghosts; they roam the caves where the orcs settled. The villagers still in life work at the sawmill on the river south of here. Thorak gro Buramog, chief of the Broken Tooth Tribe sent me to tell you that if you attack his camp, he will kill them without hesitation. He orders you to abandon the premice and turn back to Koeglin if you do not want him to carry out his threat."

As the face of Artoria was freezing with anger, Eldacaraima quickly spoke again:

"For my part, sir knight, I urge you to attack the orcs as soon as possible. The villagers are suffering from hunger and cold, half of them already dead. It is better to risk their lives by attacking Thorak's lair than the certainty of seeing their agony continue in the hands of these barbarians. I would also ask you to find my sword, the Icy Blade of the Monarch (3). It was stolen by the troll Vhruk."  
Artoria frowned:

"A troll? I thought they were too stupid to steal a sword."

The Aldmer had a sad smile:

"This is not an ordinary troll. It belongs to a rarer and older breed than the three-eyed trolls in Cyrodiil, Skyrim, and Solstheilm. Ancestral trolls are able to speak, to use weapons. They are bigger, with long arms. They have green skin, covered with clumps of dirty fur, a big nose... and only two eyes. Despite the name "troll", they are not related to the common troll (4)."

Artoria bowed even lower:

"Keep your heart at peace, Lady Eldacaraima. On my honor as a knight, I swear I will prevail in this battle. Thorak and Vhruk will perish. One way or another, the suffering of the people of Brass Moor will end today."

* * *

After summarizing the objectives of the battle (taking the orc camp, freeing the prisoners, killing Thorak and Vhruk, finding the Icy Blade of the Monarch), Saber turned to her small staff. Merlin was silent, Gonderic and Estienne studied the map that Rin had drawn thanks to her familiar sent in reconnaissance.  
Unsurprisingly, Shiro rebelled:

"We cannot attack. Orcs will kill hostages!"

The heart of Artoria tightened... part of herself review an identical conversation with her knights, there in Britain... She had sacrificed a village to the Saxons to win a battle.

"Shiro, we will try to save the villagers but... if we do not attack, the orcs will finish the dam and the fortress on the river Issen. They will then be able to hold the border with the duchy of Phrygios and repel the relief army. There will be thousands dead... and orcas will win. The city of Wayrest will be taken, the people will pass by the sword... this massacre will be a sufficient sacrifice to revive Angra Mainyu. Between the certainty of the end of the world and the risk of losing a few dozen villagers, I do not consider that there is really any choice.

The two lovers dared to look at each other. Shiro knew the story of King Arthur, the truth behind the legend; he knew that the woman he loved had sacrificed innocents. And he wouldn't let her do it again:  
"There must be a way to save these people!"

Saber's face had taken the consistency of the stone. Hard-eyed, she did not answer.

"Maybe it's possible, actually."

Artoria and Shiro turned to Rin who had just spoken. The red _Magus_ put a finger on the map:

"The orcs left open one of the gates of the palisade surrounding their camp. Obviously, it's not the one near the slave pen. They're not stupid. Let's imagine that someone infiltrates their camp, goes by the entrance to the second door and opens it from the inside? The woods are a few tens of meters from this door. We could hide men and attack before the orcs even know we're here."

Estienne de Vignonne straightened up:

"Impossible! The man we're sending would have to go through the second gate, which is guarded by a dozen men, and then through the entire enemy camp. In broad daylight! Without being spotted! It's impossible!"

Rin had one of her Machiavellian smiles. A hand passed over her belly, with her finger raised, she turned to the redhead teen:

"Shiro, can you remind us what Corvus Direnni gave you as a farewell present?"

The change of subject seemed a surprising moment for the young _Magus_, then his face illuminated with understanding:

"A... a cloak of invisibility."

Rin's smile was accentuated:

"Now listen to my battle plan..."

While she was planning the assault, Tosaka was watching Saber and Shiro behind her back. Although she prefers to be considered a classic, cold, logical, ruthless _Magus_, Rin actually hid an older sister's temperament, secretly caring for others. Saving the villagers mattered to her almost as much as Emiya. However, nothing could hurt her more than an argument between Shiro-kun and Saber-chan. She loved them. She would do anything to keep them happy and close to her.

* * *

Since the time of Fuyuki's Fifth Grail War, Rin Tosaka was the tactician of the trio she formed with Shiro and Saber. She had helped her friends defeat Berserker and Gilgamesh. Defeating a few orcs was not a problem.

Protected by the cloak of invisibility of Corvus Direnni, Shiro slipped to the capstan controlling the second door of the camp. Before the orcs understood what was happening, Rin and Merlin appeared in front of the expeditionary force. They rushed inside the camp. Some guards then reacted; starting to run towards the enclosure to the slaves, probably to kill the hostages... but roots arose from the ground and immobilized them.

The bulk of the garrison, waiting by the door saw a crystal falling among them. A moment later, the soul gem exploded into a huge fireball.

Rin's attack had broken the line of defense. Surprised, shocked the orcs were tearing to pieces by the attackers.  
Simultaneously, the attack on the first gate was launched by Artoria, Gonderic and Estienne.  
Thorak gro Buramog tried to stop the Bretons and fell under Saber's sword, the latter realizing only after the blow to have eliminated the enemy leader by seeing the orcs coming out.

The battle was almost over and with it the liberation of the hills.

Leaving the cleaning of the camp to the soldiers, Artoria, Rin, Shiro, Merlin, Gonderic, and Estienne entered the caves. These were natural caves dug into the limestone by a river now extinct. Stalactites fell from ceilings and stalagmites rose from a ground covered with large puddles of water. Here and there torches were burning.

The "dungeon" was a classic of the genre, traps, monsters (especially zombies and ghosts), and some chests containing precious objects. Everywhere the ground was covered with skeletons and decomposed corpses of villagers.

But the small group triumphed over everything; Shiro used _Structural Analysis_ to uncover traps and _Tracing_ to project the keys to the chests. So they didn't need a thief to defuse these mechanisms. Faced with a group where all were both skilled in magic and excellent fighters, the enemies were simply no match.

They arrived in the last cave, serving as a throne room for the troll Vhruk.

As the humanoid monster sought to haggle, Artoria aimed at a potion of Comprehension of Languages and advanced to discuss. Alas, Vhruk believed himself immortal and his negotiation amounted to clumsy intimidation: "I Vhruk powerful. Invincible. No weapon kill Vhruk. You leave or Vhruk kill you!"

The troll perfectly embodied the social Darwinism so dear to Malacath. The leaders had big muscles and a small brain.

The fight was inevitable and it was brief.

The orcs warriors and the shaman were eliminated in a few moments before Saber faced Vhruk in a duel. She cut the monster in half from the shoulder to the hip... then used a vial of intense fire oil to incinerate the corpse that continued to regenerate even after death.

Having found the Icy Blade of the Monarch in a chest near Vhruk's "throne", they brought it back to Eldacaraima.  
The orcs were in disarray...

Their leaders were dead...

The villagers were saved.

They had won the battle.

* * *

(1) Orc warriors are literally the children of their leader. Malacath's code says that the tribal chief must obtain his place by confronting his predecessor in a duel to the death so that the strongest leads. The head thus appointed is the only one to have the right to give birth. All the women of the tribe are therefore his wives (or daughters, who will eventually marry the leader of another tribe) and all the young males are his children. Orc society holds both social Darwinism and patriarchy in their worst. Ew!

(2) Syrabane: Altmer archmage with a legendary magic ring (the Syrabane ring). He played a key role in the defeat of the Sloads (a necromancer's race of monsters) in finding a cure for the Thracian plague which they had spread in the Illiac's Bay around 2200 1E. After his death, he was divinized. He is now known as a "cadet god" with magic as his domain. While Magnus is the main god of magic, worshipped by confirmed spell casters, Syrabane protects apprentices. Among the High Elves, the Snow Elves, and the Bretons, the students of the magic schools are placed under his patronage.  
(3) The Icy Blade Monarch is a magic sword that owes its powers to the soul of a "Monarch" of ice, a more powerful variant of the ice atronach. Note: This weapon is not official TES content but appears in several mods (additional content created by players) since TES III Morrowind.  
(4) This is the troll of TES I Arena. According to the bestiary of this game, they are at the service of powerful magicians (created by them?). Jagar Tharn - the usurper of the imperial throne- sent them to eliminate his opponents. Although described as stupid, they are nevertheless intelligent enough that the player can convince them to leave him in peace.


	29. Chapter 28 The Issen Bridge

**The Issen Bridge**

* * *

The narrow valley went more or less northward, winding between two chains of hills that marked the border between the kingdom of Alcaire and the duchy of Phrygios.

The rocky hills were covered with pristine snow that would also cover the nearby forests.  
Here, the valley suddenly widened and a camp welcomed the small army of Verandia. After walking all day, the soldiers were unloading the mules to mount the tents. They were also busy digging latrines, piling stones for the campfires... in short, doing everything necessary to establish a cantonment. Sentries patrolled, while soldiers from the chores cut down the wood necessary for their installation.

A first tent had already been erected. It was a large canvas pavilion whose role was to host the meetings of the small staff of the expedition.

* * *

On a folding table, several maps lined up with the reports of scouts and spies. Artoria Pendragon had been forced to read them herself, regretting once again the absence of Bedivere. Her old friend had proved indispensable during her campaigns on the island of Britain. Not only did he read all the reports for her, but he also synthesized them.

Having placed her gauntlets on the table, Artoria massaged her forehead, fighting an insidious headache. Too many hours of walking, too little sleep...

"Let's recap! Tomorrow morning, we will enter a valley network that starts from where we are and opens eastward on the plain dug by the river Issen. The Orcs must undoubtedly prepare some ambushes in these valleys since the terrain is conducive to this form of combat. However, once this obstacle is overcome, we will have to reach the true objective of our expedition. Because, let's not forget, we came to take over the Issen bridge and destroy the dam that the Orcs are building to block this river. We must at least succeed one of these two missions; otherwise, the relief army will not be able to cross the Issen."

Artoria showed a report:

"Our main difficulty is that the enemy has prepared the sabotage of the bridge. That is in any case what our scouts testify. It will be necessary to take the enemy position very quickly, without giving the enemy time to destroy the bridge. Does anyone have a suggestion?"

Rin Tohsaka, with her arm crossed, had her face expressionless and focused on solving the problem. Beside her, Merlin seemed perfectly serene, leaning on his magical staff; he looked around the small team surrounding the table. Shiro Emiya scratched his head vigorously while grimacing, then sighed, apparently having nothing to offer. Gonderic de Bel-Amant looked at Artoria with a smile of apology. He obviously had no great plan to propose.

Finally, the first speaker was Estienne de Vigonne. The colossus had served as a mercenary in all the battles between the Bretons and their neighbors over the past twenty years. So, of course, he knew the Orcs well:

"Lady Artoria, I fear that taking the bridge intact is impossible. You have already faced the Orcs, you know that you cannot talk to them. They will never abandon the bridge without fighting. Malacath welcomes into his kingdom only the Orcs who died courageously in battle, so they are not afraid to fight us... on the contrary, they seek a heroic death. Moreover, they are persuaded to be superior to all their enemies and therefore not to be defeated. I mean, never would an Orc dare disobey his leader. If they have been ordered to destroy the bridge if the battle turns against them, we can be sure they will."

There was a brief moment of silence, then...

"We're lucky they have such flaws!"

Estienne de Vigonne turned to Tohsaka who had just spoken. His eyes were exorbitant and he seemed to believe that she had lost her mind. The _Magus_ in red shrugged her shoulders and then lifted a finger in a professorial gesture:

"Give it some thought! Since the beginning of this campaign, we have been inflicting heavy defeats on them. Why? Because Orcs warriors seek to prove their worth in the sight of their god. Battles are not won by the charges of screaming madmen packs but by maneuvering units in a coordinated manner and capturing key battlefield positions. Using only the frontal assault is stupidity! As for their courage which impresses you so much, I see only a greater stupidity! The duty of a defeated soldier is to flee, save his life, and return to fight the next battle. Instead, the Orcs fight to the last. Not only do the Orcs needlessly sacrifice their soldiers, but they also lose the experience gained by these fighters. They should have understood long ago that the frontal assaults made them vulnerable to Excalibur or weapons _Traced_ by Shiro. But no, over and over again, they suffer crushing defeats!"

Estienne seemed troubled by the arguments advanced by Rin, but she had not finished:

"You seem to believe that the blind obedience of the Orcs towards their tribal leaders is a quality... it is quite the opposite! A tribal leader defeated his predecessor with weapons, then all those who wanted to take his place. Certainly, that makes him a great warrior... but his strength and weapons skills do not necessarily make him a talented tactician or diplomat. Orcs have not understood that it is better to have a good brain than big muscles to lead! And in addition, since Malacath's law requires absolute obedience, this means that the more intelligent subordinates cannot contradict the tribal chief. A stupid plan will, therefore, be accepted and we can trust the Orcs to sacrifice "bravely" until the last because none will be "cowardly" enough to use his brain."

Shiro and Artoria exchanged a smile, their friend had not changed. Rin was a brilliant mind, a true genius as she constantly recalled (modesty not being among her qualities). Moronic actions were wigging her out and Tohsaka could be quite impressive when she was angry.

Saber coughed in her fist:

"Thank you for your explanation, Rin. Surely you have understood that the enemy's strengths are in fact his weaknesses. However, it doesn't explain how to deal with them."

The young Magus thanked Shiro with a smile for the cup of tea that he had just served, and then rubbed her chin. She finally sighed:

"I fear we are at a dead end. Since we left Koeglin, we have been fighting in tight terrain. The latter is favorable to the one who occupies it first. By blocking the passages, the opponent is assured of an excellent defensive position. Having numerical superiority, the Orcs can hold all the passages before us, while we will use only one. This means the enemy will have plenty of time to use the units in the other valleys for a counter-attack. Worse still, these fights make us waste precious time. We can stand for safe that the garrison of the Issen Bridge will be notified of our arrival. Taking the bridge intact will certainly be a challenge. However, Excalibur is an anti-fortress Noble Phantasm. The Sword of Promised Victory will have no trouble pulling down the dam."

A thoughtful expression appeared on Artoria's face:

"In other words, when we face the bridge's defensive positions, we will not have the effect of surprise and will have to confront enemies prepared to fight us."

Rin acquiesced, she suddenly seemed overwhelmed:

"And the sabotage teams will be ready to intervene. I don't see how we can secure the bridge before the enemy sabotages it."

Shiro intervenes:

"With Corvus' cloak of invisibility, I..."

But he was brutally interrupted by Rin. She had just risen and held out her fist as if to strike him, a furious expression on her face:

"_Baka_! I sent several of my familiars to the river. The bridge is made of wood and the Orcs have accumulated pitch barrels on the deck. They also removed boards to expose the structure. If you attack alone, you may be able to neutralize one or two of the sabotage positions... before hundreds of Orcs throw themselves at you. Even if you kill them all... the saboteurs will have plenty of time to take action. I don't want you to get caught in the fire, you heroic idiot. I wonder why Angra Mainyu didn't reincarnate you into an orc! With your talent for building a harem and your thick brute brain, you would have made an excellent tribal chief!"

It was Rin Tohsaka, absolutely merciless!

The other occupants of the Staff Tent looked at each other, rather uncomfortably... Tohsaka seemed to take malicious pleasure in these disputes. However, Artoria agreed with each of her friend's retorts:  
"Rin is right, Shiro."

The Amber Eyed Hero remained for a few moments with swinging arms, no longer seeming to know what to say. He knew enough about his two friends to know that only the fear of losing him led them to contradict him so openly... but he still had the impression that he had been scolded like a little child.  
The staff discussed for a good half hour, but no new facts emerged from this exchange. They had no valid battle plan to defeat an entrenched enemy before he destroys a strategic bridge for the liberation of High-Rock.

* * *

"Iaaaa!"

Saber shot down his sword on the harpy, the half-woman, half-bird monster had a short melodious scream before falling to the ground in a whirlwind of feathers and droplets of blood.

Already, a powerful werewolf threw himself on Artoria. The knight woman counters the clawed attacks by jumping back twice. With her eyes wrinkled, she looked for a loophole in the rhythm of the blows. When the monster raised his arm too high, she leaped forward, one hand on the pommel of her invisible sword.

"Hiiiieee!"  
The blade plunged into the monster's groin and was covered with blood as it came out on the other side. The werewolf was dying. However, Artoria Pendragon's fighting instinct warned her that she was still in danger, twisting her side, she moved the monster like a shield... and the werewolf back was suddenly adorned with about ten arrows.

The Orcs archers on the rocky ledge began to swear, seeking to see her behind the corpse of the wolfman. However, they fell within seconds... each being pierced by a translucent _prana_ arrow.

Repelling the body of the werewolf, Saber smiled to her lover who lowered the black bow of Archer.

Around them, the battle raged.

The expedition of Verandia advanced in one of the valleys which opened like a fan towards the larger valley than the Issen River had traced among the hills. However, as Artoria had predicted, the Orcs occupied them and multiplied assaults and ambushes.

In addition to the Orcs themselves, the green-skinned humanoids had gathered many allies such as harpies, ogres and werewolves, but also giant wild boars, Iliac's spiders, saber-toothed tigers and snakes as thick as tree trunks. These monstrous animals must have been under the control of their shamans.  
Gonderic de bel-Amant and Estienne de Vignonne having eliminated their opponents, the vanguard of the army of Verandia charged to sweep away the surviving monsters.

Like the previous clashes, the Orc ambush ended in rout for the attackers. The losses in the Verandia's camp were limited because Merlin was watching. The wounded were suddenly enveloped in golden energy healing their wounds while their adversaries saw themselves surrounded by a violet aura weakening them.

However, their advance had been slowed. In fact, they had been immobilized, leaving them vulnerable to a counter-attack.

Leaning on her sword covered with blood, Artoria tried to catch her breath as a rumble made her raise her head. With horror, she discovered an avalanche descending towards the bottom of the valley. The snow rolled stones, tore trees to the ground, and rushed towards them...

Fortunately, Rin Tohsaka did not lose her temper. Wearing a heavy coat of fur, her neck surrounded by a scarf, she whispered something inaudible. Then she threw the runes "Elhaz" and "Issa". The first meant "protection", the second "ice". The two small pebbles marked with these runes and impregnated with Tohsaka _prana_ released their power as soon as they touched the ground.

Immediately thick ice walls rose around the small army joining to form a veritable tunnel.

The avalanche passed over them, shaking their refuge, but without hurting them...  
Tohsaka flickered. Exhausted by the effort, she folded in two, her hands on her knees. As Shiro, worried, asked her how she was doing, she rose up with arrogance:

"Who do you think you're talking to?! Of course, I'm fine! Protecting an entire army... it's nothing for me... I remind you that I am a genius like you see only one... per generation..."  
Then she fainted without losing that little higher smile that often exasperated those who discovered her true (and irritating) personality.

* * *

The small army of Verandia camped on the heights of a hill. Below, one could see the bridge spanning the Issen. Between them and the river... a succession of barricades mixing tree trunks, earth-filled barrels, and sharp stakes protected several bivouacs where the smoke of campfire rose.

Having _Strengthened_ his eyes, Shiro described the places to Artoria, Gonderic, and Estienne. When he had finished, Saber shook her head while pondering:

"It will be difficult to break through their defenses and seize the bridge intact".

Shiro shook his head:

"On the contrary, I think it's doable."

With his hand he pointed at different points on the bridge:

"There, there, there, here, and again, these are the points prepared for the sabotage. There is an Orc near each of them. I will eliminate them from the start of the attack and I will also kill all those who try to get close to the pitch barrels. All you have to do is break through the enemy's defenses to the bridge."  
Saber beat her eyelids, a little surprised. It was a good plan... a simple and direct plan but had a chance to work. She nodded and smiled:

"Yes, Shiro, that's a good idea."

The Amber Eyed Blacksmith seemed to shine and the two youngsters were for a moment lost in their little world, even as Gonderic and Estienne looked up to heaven.

They were about to intervene, when Merlin came out of the tent the soldiers had raised. As soon as she saw him, Artoria approached him with an uneasy expression:

"Rin?"  
The Magician of Flowers smiles with a reassuring air:

"She has nothing serious. She should just stop acting like Santa on a December 24th night".

Artoria and Shiro looked at Merlin with perplexed mines... as for Gonderic de Bel-Amant and Estienne de Vignonne, they did not even know who Santa Claus was and understood even less.

Merlin smiles with this little mischievous air that often wore before committing one of his unbearable antics:

"It is a father who asks his son: 'Tell me, Stevie, what you would like to do when you grow up? '" Changing his tone, the magician countered a child's voice: "I would like to be Santa." Merlin then resumed his normal tone: "Oh, to give gifts to the wise children?" After which he told of the punch line of this pathetic joke by counterfeiting a nasty exasperating child (or revealing his true nature?): "No, it is that Santa works only one day a year!"

Artoria's expression was something to behold. She seemed exhausted. With her eyes closed, she massaged her forehead:

"What does this have to do with Rin?"

"Oh? Did you not understand the comparison, Your Majesty? Santa may only work one day a year, but he gives gifts to all the children on Earth."

"In plain language, please."

A little surprised that no one understood his joke, Merlin sighed. After whispering something about the lack of humor of his contemporaries, he finally replied:

"My king, Rin has very powerful _Magic Circuits_... at least according to the _Magi_ of her time. However powerful they may be, the _Magic Circuits_ of a _Magus_ can only transform a limited amount of _Od_ into _Prana_ every day. But Rin overloaded her _Circuits_ to generate enough _Prana_ to build a wall capable of protecting an army.

Shiro intervened:

"And it's dangerous?"

Merlin seemed astonished:

"The absurdity of the question does not surprise me on the part of someone who has failed to kill himself numerous times using _Magecraft_ incorrectly! Of course it is dangerous! First of all, it can damage the _Magic Circuits _which -therefore- will no longer work as well. But it can also lead to more serious side effects: paralysis of a part of the body, necrosis, death..."

Saber's face hardens:

"Rin doesn't have any of that, does she?"

Merlin raised his hands in a reassuring gesture:

"No, Tohsaka was very lucky, she's just exhausted. She will no doubt have some difficulty moving during the next few days because the energies circulating in her physical body are no longer in phase with her etheric body. More seriously, she must **absolutely not** use _Magecraft_ until she recovered. Not only would it fail, but she would probably kill herself... "

Merlin once again turned his gaze to Shiro:

"In any case, you have a very bad influence on her, young man! In a situation like the one we just experienced, an ordinary _Magus_ would just have sought to save his life, not overloaded his _Magic Circuits_ by seeking to protect ordinary men."

The remark was harsh, but in fact, the magician smiled. Saber also when she spoke:

"It's Shiro... he has the talent to push people to open their hearts. He makes them better."

* * *

"**Starlight Divergence!"**

Five wind cones fell on the fortifications of the Orcs. Each of them surrounded a stream of golden light. Stones, broken wood, and body were propelled in all directions.

Without giving the defenders of the bridge time to recover from the sudden attack, Saber jumped among them. Her invisible sword was sowing death around her. Orcs converged on the woman in armor, but despite the number, the fight was one siding. She twirled, jumped over a row of soldiers, ran, dodged. And always, Artoria handled her blade in powerful strokes. Those who approached her perished.  
"Aaah"  
The lateral blow severed the Orc at the hips, shattering its shield and crossing its armor as if it were made of paper. Sprinkled with blood, Artoria did not budge, merely shrinking her eyes and stopping the charge of an Orc armed with a weapon axe. Pushing him aside, she waved her sword toward heaven:

"**Starlight Convergence!**"

Momentarily freed from it scabbard made of wind, Excalibur appeared in all it golden glory. However light and wind escaped from the blade as in an explosion. Saber found herself in the center of a fleeting sphere of dazzling light and swirling winds.

All around her, Orcs were there thrown clear, bruised, and dazzled.

This powerful blazing signal also served as a sign to launch the general attack. Led by Gonderic and Estienne, the soldiers of Verandia broke on the battlefield... the defenses dismantled, the defenders paralyzed, it was not very difficult for them to take advantage. Of course, reinforcements converged towards them, but roots immobilized them.

Using one of her favorite techniques, **Wind King's Slash**, Saber rushed forward, too fast to be seen. Like a ghost, her distorted silhouette appeared simultaneously in several points of the second line of defense, killing the defenders. Then she leaps forward and falls back on the deck of the bridge.  
There too, the ground was covered with blood and corpses. At the same time as her assault, Shiro had begun to make a void among the defenders. His arrows touched the killer whales that dared to rise, instantly striking them. not a single stroke was lost, yet he was more than a kilometer away, safe from any response.

Sheltered from a barricade, a man in a black dress tried to negotiate. Around him, zombies and skeletons betrayed his condition as a necromancer. Artoria, however, was offended to see that the Orcs continued to attempt to reach the pitch barrels while he pretended to demand the terms of a ceasefire:  
"Mage, we only negotiate in good faith. I don't see the point in wasting my time chatting with you when all you're trying to do is delay me and destroy the bridge! In addition, it is presumptuous of you to seek a peaceful outcome when you only used violence as the only way to resolve your different when you had the advantage.

She jumped forward, slashing the undead in the process and then fell back next to the necromancer who lost his head... literally. Its skull, taken off by the invisible sword bounces two or three times before crossing the railing and falling into the river.

The battle ended around Artoria.

The harpies fled in a flurry of wings. Freed from the command spells of the shamans, the monstrous animals attacked everything that approached them. Only the ogres (too stupid) and the Orcs (too fanatic) still resisted here and there. Nevertheless, Shiro's arrows and Merlin's spells were soon emptied in their ranks.

* * *

The next day, going up the Issen, the small army arrived from the dam. There, too, the Orcs had gathered troops in charge of the defense. On both banks, they had built fences with watchtowers loaded with archers. Shiro showed places where shamans, trained monsters, or even traps stood. For an ordinary force, attacking would have been costly.

However, Artoria did not need to approach:

"**Sacred Sword Released!"**

Holding Excalibur in two hands, Saber watched the multiple layers of wind whirling away. A ring of golden fire appeared, revealing the handle, and then ascending releasing the guard and then the whole blade.

The Sword of Promised Victory appeared, spreading a golden light. Artoria lifted it above her head, closed the eyelids, and inhaled deeply. A brief moment, a bluish aura appeared around her before merging with the golden aura of the blade.

The brilliance of the blade then increased into a column of fire that soon rose to about ten meters above the ground.

Saber opened her eyes, expelled the air from her lungs before strike forward.

"**Ex...**

And the golden torch of fire fell to the ground, turning into a blinding beam that rushed towards the dam.

**... calibur!**"

The wave of clarity struck the wall of wooden logs. It did not stand a single moment, exploding and throwing debris around it. Yet the usual rampage of the Sacred Sword was not the end of the disaster. Tons of water had been contained by the dam. As it collapsed, foaming waves sprang up through the breach, widening it down below... sweeping the Orcs, knocking down the watchtowers, breaking down the barricades and palisades.

The river carried away everything (tree trunks, planks... corpses) before getting lost in the nearby valleys.  
With a serious, sad face, Saber put the sword again invisible in the ground and crossed her hands on its pommel. The frigid wind played with her hair and lifted the bottom of her dress, making her armor click.  
She was superb, royal; the perfect model of the knight... yet everyone looked at her in silence, in admiration or just terrified?

Merlin slowly shook his head, saddened. in the secret of his heart, he remembered the teenager who had snatched the Sword of Designation from the stone. "Why did I tell you to reconsider your desire to brandish Caliburn? I warned you that you would never be considered human again," he thought.

That day had begun the legend of Arthur Pendragon. That all knew... but it was also that day that Artoria Pendragon died.

Except...  
Shiro advanced, crossing the circle of soldiers still frozen by the magnitude of the catastrophe.  
"Saber, the meal is ready!"

As if she had just heard a magic word, Saber turned her eyes bright, with a smile on her lips:

"What have you prepared?"

The red-haired young man rubbed the back of his head:

"I thought the giant wild boars should be edible, so I tried a pork stew with white wine, raisins, bacon. The sauce is made with bread, meat broth, and egg yolks."

A roar of thunder surprised the soldiers, and then there was a laugh when one of them realized that it was Artoria's stomach that was gurgling. Once again a young woman, the legendary king blushed and coughed in her fist to try to save some of her dignity:

"Once again, you outdid yourself, Shiro."

Merlin laughs in turn.

Even he did not foresee the miracle that Shiro Emiya was. In his hands, kitchen equipment had realized what Merlin's magic had never succeeded in doing: returning her humanity to Artoria.

Maybe... yeah, maybe this time it wouldn't end on a hill covered with dead bodies and swords.


	30. Chapter 29 A Day Off

**A day off**

* * *

The tent was a vast canvas pavilion composed of three rooms high enough to stand. The "bedroom" was distinguished by a large mattress in the middle of the room. For the hour, only one person was lying in this bed.

Her hair undone, without her usual twintails, Rin Tohsaka looked more adult. Leaning against the pillows, she wore a yellow nightshirt adorned with a red ribbon. Resting her cup of tea, she had a brief smile addressed to Shiro:

"The tea you served me is at the right temperature... you've made some progress."  
Rin was greedy with compliments and the Amber Eyes Blacksmith seemed to radiate:  
"Thank you, Rin."

The young Japanese girl immediately turned her eyes to sniff with a haughty air:

"Since you didn't even know the difference between industrial tea and good tea, you could hardly do worse than on Earth."

Tohsaka would certainly have seemed more honest if her cheeks were not colored red after Shiro's thank. The _Magus_ seemed viscerally incapable of sincerity when it came to her own feelings.  
Artoria bit the inside of her lips not to laugh. Most people did not realize how warm and kind Rin was... Normally, she hid it well. Except that the young _Magus_ was very emotional and Shiro's frankness always pierced her armor.

Putting an end to the awkward silence that had settled, the King of Knights returned about their concern:  
"Well anyway, how are you? Are you still in pain? Do you still have vertigo?"

Rin looked surprised and troubled before smiling at her friend:

"I'm fine, Saber. I'm miraculously fine, actually... Merlin told me I wouldn't have any damage. "

Artoria had a slight smile:

"Knowing him, he didn't just reassure you."

Rin pouted and crossed her arms:

"You can tell, my ears are still ringing... He told me thirty times that using such a powerful spell without incantation or preparation was stupid. It's not like I had time to prepare! But go explain it to that old goat!"

Artoria sighed; she had no trouble imagining Merlin preaching to Rin... having been several times in her place being younger.

"You are a nice person, Rin. I am sure all soldiers know that you saved their lives and are grateful to you."  
Tohsaka turned her head aside to try to hide her embarrassment:

"Its... it's normal after all these soldiers are my allies... it's normal that I watch over my allies... no?"

Saber and Shiro exchanged a quick smile. How many times had they heard this excuse? Rin just had too good-hearted for not to try to save everyone she could save... even if it meant putting herself in danger.

* * *

At one point in her life, before the Holy Grail War, Rin would have been devastated to realize her undue sensitivity. She wanted to be a _Magus_ worthy of the Tohsaka lineage, cold, intelligent, practical, and... hard. Oh yes, her father had been a perfect _Magus_ willing to use the most "efficient" means to achieve his ends, regardless of the price others had to pay.

But what did Tokiomi Tohsaka really win?

Her father had been murdered by Kirei Kotomine... his own pupil and with the complicity or rather the blessing of Gilgamesh, his Servant. His wife Aoi suffered severe brain damage after an assassination attempt. Her short-term memory destroyed, Rin's mother had spent the last years of her life in a wheelchair. Tokiomi had also sold... no, worse... given up for nothing... his own daughter Sakura. Rin had grown up without her little sister. They couldn't even talk about it. When they met at school, they were forced to behave like strangers. And as her father's will have made Kirei her legal guardian, the false priest had finished ruining her life by squandering his family's fortune. In every way, Tokiomi Tohsaka's life had been a disaster and Rin felt immense anger when she thought of her father (1).

If her father was really, as he had often been told, a "perfect example of _Magus_" then she better understood the behavior of Kiritsugu Emiya. Shiro's foster father had not sought to pass on his knowledge to the son he had adopted. And when the child had finally extorted him a minimum of training, Kiritsugu had pushed Shiro to see himself not as a _Magus_ but as a user of _Magecraft_.  
All in all, none of the traditional _Magi_ who had participated in the Grail Wars had ever won. It had to mean something... that and then the story of the _Magecraft_ was one of a long decline. Lost knowledge... diminished _Magi_ talent... In fact, there had never been so few people to use the _Magecraft_. Yet the Clocktower continued to teach a tradition that denied any progress, any change. Four centuries after heliocentrism was recognized and became the center of astronomy, astrology continued to use a manifestly false model, placing the Earth at the center of the cosmos.  
Since the _Magecraft_ (unlike _True Magic_) was based on science, how to expect progress if the _Magi_'steaching refused the very idea of progress?!

* * *

Rin was drawn from her dark thoughts by a question from Artoria. Looking up, she asked her to repeat.  
The knight woman sighed in an exaggerated manner. A mimic that contrasted strangely with the impassive face she showed in the presence of strangers:

"I was saying, how come you don't have any damage? According to Merlin, you could have damaged your _Magic Circuits_."

—or worse yet, shivered Rin. She mechanically stroked her left arm carrying the legacy of the Tohsaka:  
"My _Magic Crest_ probably saved me by channeling the _prana_ used by the runes."

Shiro looked at the _Magus_ with a remnant of infantile astonishment:

"I am still amazed by your talent. I never imagined there were _Magi_ with such extraordinary abilities."  
Like every time the boy she loved gave her a compliment, Rin became troubled and responded by turning her face aside and crossing her arms, wanting to show an indifference... that she was far from feeling:  
"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm a genius, the heiress of a long line of _Magi_. I was properly trained, unlike you!"

She paused for a few moments, passing a finger on her lips with a dreamy pout:

"However, on Earth, I would not have been able to do anything like that."

Saber and Shiro approved, the King of Knights added:

"The environment is very rich in _mana_, so rich that the _Magi_ of Tamriel do not need _Magic Circuits_ to use spells and their _od_ regenerates in only a few hours."

Tohsaka shrugged her shoulders and sighed with a disgusted air:

"Its pearl before swine, yes..."

"Rin?"  
Artoria was surprised by the aggressiveness of her friend. Rin made an auspicious sign...  
"It's just that the _Mag_i here are making such poor use of this tremendous energy, available to anyone... On Earth, we must keep the _Magecraft_ secret because the energy is so rare that the _Magi_ of the Clocktower are ready to kill to keep their _Mystery_ secret and not have to share their techniques so that they are not weakened. Mistrust and selfishness prevented _Magecraft_ users from moving away from their stupid 'traditions'."

Rin fulminated and pointed to Shiro:

"And the idiot over there would have already received a _Sealing Designation_ for upgrading _Gradation Air_. The Clocktower claims to be a progressive institution. However, this organization reacts more like a religion that classifies as heretic everything it has not strictly approved.

Tohsaka swallowed a sip of tea, before resuming:

"However, they worked to improve the _Magic Circuits_ and their study of _Magecraft_ made its use much more efficient, especially by streamlining the use of _prana_, thus reducing waste. The _Magi_ of the Earth would see Nirn as a true paradise... abundant magic... no need to hide their _Magecrafts_... numerous disciples, easy to train. And yet the magic in Tamriel is a huge joke! Only the Dwemer seems to have continued research on the magic theory. Within the Guild, the _Magi_ never ceased to engage in sterile disputes between their six schools (2), agreeing only to banish Necromancy. The other organizations are no better, with the Psijics hoarding magic as if it were as rare and precious as on Earth or the Telvanni house which is a nest of political plots."

She shook her head:

"The result? Tamriel's magic books are simply written by mentally retarded people! Learning methods are ineffective and teachers continue to use the same books from centuries after they were written, which means that knowledge is stagnant. When I joined the Mage Guild, it took me one afternoon to completely rewrite the spell "flare". While this spell is much less effective than Gandr, it uses more _prana_. The spell goes straight. There is no way to control it once launched and obviously no way to aim. The spell is cast by stretching out the arm... and since it is slow, it can be avoided by an ordinary person. It is as if the creator of "flare" did not care that it was an offensive spell and that it had to be made effective. No one has ever thought of using a segmented spell structure and assigning to each segment a different ability: damage, speed, range, control, aiming, etc... A _Magus_ of the Earth would be horrified.

Shiro blinked, surprised by the vehemence of his friend:

"Well, I understand better that you are already Summoner of the Mage Guild."

She shrugged:

"In fact, I quickly stopped trying to correct their ineffective teaching; the other _Magi_ looked at me with bug eyes and begin to compare me to the legendary _Sage_ (3)."

Shiro smiled:

"I thought you loved being called a genius?"

"When mentally retarded people call you a genius, it's no longer a compliment."

Saber and Shiro exchanged an awkward glance before the Amber Eyed Blacksmith spoke again:

"I understand. Our _Magic Circuits _and the severity of our learning..."

Rin cut it off:

"The severity of **my** learning, you mean. You have received no proper training!"

"Yes, if you want. I..."

"Of course I do!"

Saber pretended to cough in her fist, but her shoulders trembled with a repressed urge to laugh. It would be really important for Rin to find an anti-stress method that does not include using Shiro as a punching bag...

The redheaded _Magus_ chooses to ignore the last replica of his best enemy:

"However, there is one thing I do not understand. If _mana_ is more abundant and regenerates faster if Gaia and Alaya no longer erode my _Projections_, why do they eventually disappear?"

Rin opened big incredulous eyes, staring at Shiro as asking him if he was joking. However, the redhead just seemed... uncomfortable. There was a reason because now Tohsaka looked at him as if she had just discovered a very strange specimen of a fool. She smiled and a shiver descended to the bottom of the neck of the young man. An instinct yelled at him to run away very quickly...  
"Shiro, would you sit there?"

Rin's voice was dangerously sweet as the teenager tapped the bed next to her, in a gesture of invitation. Shiro sat down... He had no choice. Even if he ran away, Tohsaka would find him and it would be even worse. Suddenly, without warning, she struck him with a fist at the top of the head:

"_Baka_! Like every time he comes to me to think that you are a little less stupid, you come to show me the opposite in a brilliant way!"

One arm passed on her belly, she lifted a finger:

"What you just described is nothing more or less than the _First True Magic_..."

Rubbing the bump on his head, Shiro protested:

"Yes, I know, but... "

With her forehead wrinkled with anger, and her fist raised, Rin yelled:

"Don't interrupt me!"

For a moment, Shiro believed that the young woman's jaws had been covered with shark teeth and that she would bite him. He stopped without daring to move an eyelash. Cooled down a bit, Tohsaka spoke again:

"The _First True Magic _doesn't even have a name, although it is sometimes called "_denial of nothingness_". This is the oldest and least well understood _True Magic_. We don't know what long-missing _Magus_ used it, nor what domain this _Magic_ belongs to. It is speculated, however, that it is the manipulation of the _Ether_ (4), the _Fifth Imaginary Factor_, or more likely the _True Ether_, that is, the divine element that gave birth to the planets. It is the matter of which the gods themselves are composed. On Earth, the _True Ether_ does not exist, and its existence in the Age of the Gods is pure speculation. This is why the _True Ether_ is cataloged by the _Magi _as the _Fifth True Theoretical Factor_. Do you understand? "

Shiro massaged his neck:

"Only that the _First Magic_ would use an element called _Ether_."

"Well, that'll be enough for now. Your _Tracing_ is not able to create something eternal because you _Project_ your weapons by shaping them with the _prana_ produced by your _Magic Circuits_. It is not an external element to the world as your _prana_ comes from the _od_ that flows through your body and from the _mana_ that is drawn from the environment."

Shiro tried to follow but the expression on his face showed that he did not really understand. As Archer once said, Rin was a genius; she simply did not understand the intellectual limitations of ordinary people. The female _Magus_ swore in a low voice:

"Do you know the Principles of Thermodynamics? Look at the cup of tea you served me. In a closed system, the cup can only cool down to the same temperature as the room. What is valid for a cup of tea is also valid for the weapons you _Trace_. The energy you provide to the weapons you _Trace_ is taken from the environment, it will eventually go back. You can't stop the energy from turning into another form of energy, at least in an isolated system. Hence the fact that to practice the _First True Magic_, you need to use an external element: the _Ether_."

* * *

After leaving their tent, Saber and Shiro crossed the fortified bivouac which had been established not far from the fortress of the Orcs. Since the previous day, the two sides had been following a sort of ceasefire. A pause in the fighting was strange because it was impromptu.

Doubtless marred by their succession of defeats, the Orcs remained on the expectancy.

As for the small army of Verandia...

* * *

The meeting of the small staff of the expeditionary force took place in a large tent where a trestle table had been erected supporting a large map. While Gonderic de Bel-Amant pleaded for the resumption of the attack against the Orcs a deaf shock interrupted him.

They all turned to Saber, who had just struck the table with her hand:  
"Impossible!"  
The young knight turned to Estienne de Vignonne who shared his opinion:

"Lady Artoria, the longer we allow the Orcs to recover, the harder it will be to capture their fortress. As we speak, the Orcs are gathering reinforcements and strengthening their positions. We cannot afford to wait and miss the opportunity to attack them while they are still in disarray."  
Shiro rose up, very angry:

"Rin is still suffering. Using her magic could kill her; we have to wait for her to recover."

Gonderic hesitated for a brief moment, then:

"Sire Shiro, while I greatly respect Mage Tohsaka, I maintain that we must not suspend our offensive until she recovers."

"Would you put her in danger?"

"I'm not saying that, just which we could leave her alone for..."

"And how do you want to leave her out of the conflict? You can't leave her behind and hope nothing happens to her!"

While Gonderic was about to retaliate, Saber raised her hand. She had the attitude of "King Arthur", royal and charismatic and the imperious gesture stopped him even before he uttered a word:

"Sir Gonderic, how do you know that the Orcs are strengthening and rowing reinforcements?"

The knight blinked:

"I don't know... It's just what I'd do if I were them."

Artoria agreed gravely:

"I see. It might as well be that they are setting a trap that would close on us if we attacked them. In your own words, ' It's just what I'd do if I were them. What do you think, Sir Gonderic?"

The Breton knight blinked, caught at his own game. He ended up shaking his head:

"I have no way of proving you wrong, Lady Artoria."

"And how can we prove which one of us is right, sir knight?"

Gonderic sighed:

"We need a reconnaissance of enemy positions."

"Sir Knight, who usually does these recons?"

"The Mage Tohsaka."

"Exactly, without her familiars, we can't recognize enemy positions. So we have to wait for Rin to recover."  
Artoria's arguments were clear and without a reply.

Merlin smiled. He could also create familiars... like any Earth's _Magus_. However, the Wizard of Flowers knew his king well. She would never leave Rin behind, in danger.

* * *

A vast circle of soldiers had formed around the two duelists who were about to meet. Shiro Emiya had _Traced_ Kanshou and Bakuya. In black leather armor, wrapped in a red coat, he slowly turned around the circle without letting go of his "opponent". But a smile betrayed his excitement; it had been a long time since he had trained with Saber.

Apparently, Artoria had nothing in her hands... but who still thought she was unarmed? Dressed in her blue robe under her strange armor as bright as silver, the King of Knights walked at the same rhythm as her lover, keeping constant the distance between them.

It started all at once...

Shiro began to run, crouched, with his arms stretched out behind him.

Saber turned in an almost nonchalant movement, clenching her invisible sword with both hands.

Before Shiro reached his friend he seemed to evaporate into the air. Artoria Pendragon's eyes folded as she lifted her head to look at something high.

The spectators did the same... discovering Shiro's black bow in his hand, notching arrows... that Saber dodged and paring with incredible speed.

As her lover dropped on her, having the married blades in hand again, Artoria blocked his first attack. Swiveling gracefully on herself, the King of Knights retaliated in the movement but the Amber Eyes Blacksmith block by crossing his blades.

The striking lifted a veil of snow around them as the ground fissured under Shiro's feet. The movements chained so quickly that the eye could not follow. Attacks... parades... feint... At each meeting of the blades, the magical energy they contained discharged into fantastic luminous phenomena and bursts of sparks.

Artoria changed tactics, holding Excalibur in her right hand, she plunged forward, her left gauntlet raised above her head.

The thick protection that covered it up to the elbow was, in fact, a shield formed of metal scales. The knight used it to secure herself against Kanchou while the Sword of the Promised Victory whistled up towards Shiro's face.

The _Magus_ tensed, blocking on both sides. One moment the duelists faced each other, bandaging their muscles...

An aura of deep blue shook around Shiro, while Saber wrapped herself in gold. The air became heavy as crackles of static electricity spread the scent of ozone.

Saber put an end to the status quo by slipping away in a quick dance. Shiro failed to fall forward as his friend twirled; her spin kick touched him at the hip. Shiro accompanied the blow, rolled to the ground, and landed on his feet, on guard, attentive.

Artoria slowly lowered her invisible sword and smiled:

"On for me."

"Yes."  
"You've come a long way, Shiro."

"Thank you; you're a very good teacher."

"Far from it... it's just that you were born for the sword."

Artoria instantly found herself on guard and rushed forward, disappearing to ordinary eyes. Shiro did the same...

Frightened, the soldiers looked to the right and left. The space seemed empty except the sound of metal striking metal. Here... there... briefly... in the air or on the ground... we could see bursts of energy and some blurry after-images.

No one could follow the fight.

* * *

Shiro was panting...

So that was a Hero!

Artoria was no longer a Servant, but her speed and strength remained superhuman. As he blocks with Bakuya, the sword broke brutally, numbing his whole arm. Releasing the stump, he opened his fingers:  
"_Trace On_."

Immediately, an identical blade replaced the one he had just lost. He attacked, but his friend jumped back... He followed her, except that she jumped over him to attack him in the back... and withdraw immediately as he counters. The fight did not have a moment's respite. Pushed back, Saber kept coming back, forcing Shiro to remain on the defensive. She seemed to come from all sides... The brow covered with sweat, the red-haired _Magus_ was beginning to despair to land a hit.

As he blocked a blow, Kanshou was torn from his hand and fell back behind him. Stuck in the ground, the Chinese falchion gets diluted into blue _prana_ particles as he invoked a new copy of this weapon.

Saber was incredible, even after he had _Strengthened_ his body to the maximum, he could barely follow her movements.

* * *

Artoria went from surprise to surprise. Her lover had become a first-class fighter, without the fighting instinct that allowed her to predict his movements and her _Dragon Core_ that gave her the advantage in terms of power as well as endurance, the fight would have been very difficult.

In the first place, his sword technique was incredible... Shiro always seemed a little unguarded and slow... but it was a feint. Every time she tried to take advantage of one of his faults, he responded with astonishing speed.

The apparent flaws in his defense were there only to channel her attacks and make it predictable.

As Saber jump hight, Shiro did the same and their blades crossed into a loud "bang" which generated a powerful flash. They fell back to the ground and smiled.

The duel had already lasted for a good quarter of an hour. Now that they were warmed up, serious things could begin...

* * *

(1) And again, Sakura did not tell her sister what she suffered at the hands of the Matou...

(2) Alteration, Destruction, Illusion, Mysticism, Restoration and Thaumaturgy... at the time of the events of Daggerfall, because the number of schools continue to vary and the spells pass from one to the other.

(3) The Sage (his real name, Gyron Vardengroet) would be an immortal wizard who would help the other magi. He was still a child that his first Master sent him to the greatest magical authority of the country having nothing more to teach him. The Sage appears in legends, but it may not be a real character.  
(4) The Ether is the Fifth Element added to fire, air, earth, and water. It is a subtle substance distinct from matter and capable of providing or transmitting effects between bodies. "It is absolutely necessary that there be a simple body whose nature is to move according to the circular translation, according to its own nature… Apart from the bodies that surround us here below, there is another body, separate from them, and possessing a nature all the nobler because it is farther away from those of our world." So says Aristotle.


	31. Chapter 30 Diplomacy

**Author's note: The writing of this chapter took longer than expected. I apologize for my delay, especially as a result of my willingness not to botch my work.**

* * *

**Diplomacy**

* * *

For a week the small army of Verandia had accumulated rapid victories. The Orcs attacked en masse and fell en masse against Shiro and Saber.

Then everything had changed...

In spite of its heavy losses, the army of Orcs and Goblins was probably still to reach a strength of five to seven thousand men. And they were encased around the wooden fort built by their leader on the border between Alcaire and Phrygios. The terrain was ideal for a defensive posture. The fort stood on a rocky plateau fractured by several long cracks that could only be crossed by hanging bridges.

Of course, the Orcs had fortified these points of passage. Watchtowers watched over the two edges of each crevice.

* * *

The first attack was a disaster.

Saber had marched on a guard glyph while leading the assault. The resulting explosion had projected her ten meters away. Shiro had found Saber as badly wounded as at the end of her first confrontation with Gilgamesh. Her shredded armor, her clothes burned, she lay in a puddle of blood.  
Fortunately, her magic resistance had saved her life and Avalon was already working to heal her wounds.  
Nevertheless, it had only been the beginning of their ordeal. While Rin and Merlin faced Orc shamans and archers armed with enchanted arrows, alarm drums were set to beat.

The small expedition was soon taken to task by Goblins wolves' riders who attacked them from all sides.  
Saber being unable to fight, Gonderic, Estienne, and Shiro had been forced to pay for themselves, arresting the attackers at one point, just to see others arrive elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the battle between their spell casters and the remaining adversaries on the other side of the crevasse had degenerated into a pure rampage of power. Fireballs, ice storms, lightings followed one another while monsters were summoned; thunder was called upon the battlefield and curses exchanged.  
Forced to divide his attention between their wounded and his opponents, the half-incubus had emerged from the battle completely exhausted despite the magic potions he had consumed. Merlin was hard to watch, his arm bloody, his face burned, and his mage robe had been reduced to the state of blackened rags. None of his opponents came close to him, of course, but to fight simultaneously against more than twenty shamans... supported by archers shooting arrows carrying runes of fire... reminded that even the legendary Wizard of Flowers was not invincible.

Finally, they had managed to withdraw, leaving about fifty men on the ground... Of course, the enemy's losses were probably in the hundreds, but that didn't change anything. They had been defeated.

* * *

It was obvious, they had to change tactics.

* * *

Shiro Emiya advanced under the protection of the cape of Corvus Direnni. He pressed against him Rin Tohsaka. The cloak of invisibility was normally individual but the girl was so tinny that she disappeared just like him in the eyes of the Orcs watchmen.

If anyone had seen them, they would no doubt have been surprised at their actions. Guided by Shiro, the couple zigzagged on the rocky plateau preceding one of the crevices fortified by the Orcs.

"There," said Shiro, "just to the right of the elephant-like rock".

Snuggled against his shoulder, Rin breathed into his neck and smiled as she felt him shivering. Normally, she would not have hesitated for a moment to doubt her assertion or to scold him... mocking him was her number one entertainment. Nevertheless, as the boy stiffened, a perfectly evil smile passed over her face. There was better to do:

"Oh? Are you sure... nothing disturbs your perceptions?"

Rin took advantage of it to tighten even more tightly and Shiro swallowed feeling the small but firm breasts of his (girl)friend pressing against his chest and her thigh brushing his own. Trying not to pay attention to the... uh... physiological changes induced by this contact, Amber's Eye Hero swallowed:  
"Rin," he begged, "we have more urgent!"

The young _Magus_ pouted but drew Shiro to the elephant-shaped stone. She concentrated and suddenly a broad pentacle appeared before them. Tohsaka knelt at a safe distance:

"Abzug Bedienung... Mittlestand."

The magic seal began to radiate and then disappeared releasing blue _prana_ butterflies in the air.

Worried, Shiro turned to the enemy sentries. Fortunately, the Orc guards were quite far away. In this snowy landscape, undoubtedly, the particles that were released by the suspension of the spell should appear to them as a little snow swirling in their wind.

There was even no reason to fear that their steps would reveal their position. Near the bridge, the patrols of Orcs and Gobelins had blithely trampled the snow in all directions.

"I don't think any of these trapped seals are left," Shiro remarked.

"Are you sure?"

The young male Magus concentrated for a moment, and then shrugged:

"I can't feel a trace of this _Magecraft_, anyway."

On Earth, Shiro was very sensitive to this form of _Magecraft_, easily finding the seals placed by Rider to activate **Blood Fort Andromeda**. Rin agreed with the Amber Eyed Blacksmith:

"All right, let's report to Saber... After that, we may have some time to discover what we can do together under a cloak of invisibility".

Shiro blushed as his girlfriend pressed against him. Tohsaka had missed a vocation as a tantric priestess... or a devoted Baphomet's witch.

* * *

The assault took the Orcs completely by surprise. Shiro, invisible under Corvus' cloak, decimated the sentries on the watchtowers and around the drums. Saber then rushed into contact, appearing and disappearing like a blurred shadow, breaking the barricades and cutting the defenders.

A soul gem thrown by Rin exploded into a huge fireball. The survivors of this carnage were quickly routed or killed.

Of course, there was a counter-attack... a veritable army of ice trolls, escorted by Orc shamans and Goblins wolves' riders. But Merlin raised roots from the ground and immobilized them while Artoria Pendragon raised her invisible sword to the sky.

"O Wind... **Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King**!"

* * *

On Earth, there were strategists and swordsmen who were recognized as wise by the generations who learned the art of war in their writings.

So Sun Tzu taught that the only really effective way to win a war was... not to fight a battle.

In the West, this notion has often been rejected as ridiculous, idealistic, and always as ineffective. The idea that one could win a battle without drawing the sword is anything but ridiculous. As for realism, you really have to be an idiot to forget that recourse to violence closes all the other options to you. Because, before the blade appears in the day, there is a moment when it can slice up until ideas... The true art of war is to put the force at the service of reason and not reason at the service of force.

* * *

The scene had something surreal.

The canyon was blocked by a small army of goblins. Opposite, the 150 survivors of the Verandia expedition were waiting, weapons at the feet.

Between the two groups, a carpet had been laid on the snow with, in its center, a teapot prepared by Shiro. Sitting cross-legged, between her lover and Rin (her other lover), Artoria still had in her mouth the filthy taste of the Potion of Comprehension of Tongues and drank tea in the hope of driving it away. In front of them, three goblins dressed in leathers and bones, wearing rusty iron helmets. The one in the middle flashed as for himself:

"... sometimes, sometimes, I meditate on this war and on before this war. The Iron Horn tribe lived in the Wrothgar Mountains. We lived hunting and fishing with our wolf companions, raising our Durzogs. When we wanted weapons and objects made by humans, we launched raids on the villages of the Dunlain region. I miss this lifestyle, this freedom."

Demog the Unhealthy looked at Artoria with his huge orange glittery silver eyes:

"Does it surprise you to hear a goblin reflect on his life?"

Saber, with her hands on her knees, turned to him her gaze. She answered with a thin smile:

"No. And you don't think about your life, but about your tribe's. You do what a leader has to do. If the leader does not question himself and does not seek the best way for his tribe might as well put a Durzog in his place. "

The goblin chief grinned, amused:

"And you're not shocked to hear about my raids on the Duchy of Gastemarch? I thought the 'knights' were meant to slice the goblins, not listen to their exploits."

"You want my answer? I dream of piercing your chest with my sword. But I too am a leader and I meditate on my own tribe. I, too, am far away from home fighting for others than my tribe. I too seek to do what is right for my tribe."

Shiro looked at his girlfriend rather surprised by her honesty. He expected to see the negotiations fail... to see Demog rise and join his warriors to launch them on the attack. Only, Artoria had found the right words. Instead, the goblin burst out laughing:

"I also dream of killing you, human vermin."

The King of the Knights approved of with a chin movement as if they had just agreed to a point of the utmost importance:

"So we agree, Chief Demog. We hate each other, we are enemies, but we want to act in the best interests of our tribes?"

The goblin scratched his chin and growled:

"Yeah, we're in agreement."

"And I think, Chief Demog, that your tribe has nothing to gain by facing me. You were at the siege of Koeglin. You have suffered heavy losses, at which point you will have much more to fight."  
"But we will win; we are the tribe of the Iron Horn."

Artoria had a hand gesture to reject the assertion:

"To please you, let's say yes. You win... which means you're one of the last survivors on a huge pile of corpses. Your tribe triumphed but sacrificed most of its members. So did you really win? Malooc - your god- only believes in strength. Victorious, you will be so weakened that you will become easy prey for the other tribes. So why fight? To please the Orcs who sent you here without support? And where are they, safe in their fort? They will be the only true winners without risking anything. Are you satisfied?"

Shiro had watched Artoria speak, impressed by her calm voice and her perfect control of the situation. He then turned to the goblin. Demog was not human, his narrow, pinched face, huge ears, and sharp teeth made his face difficult to read for the young Magus. Only, a disturbance passed over his features as his hands shook and loosened under the effect of a suppressed angry.

"Or do you find it difficult to contradict someone twice as tall as you?"

The Amber Eyed Blacksmith jolted... This time, Artoria went too far. The goblin straightened up, exploded:  
"What did you dare say, vermin?"

Calm and dignified, Saber took her cup and drank a sip of tea, thanking Shiro with a nod of appreciation. Then she replied:

"Chief Demog, how strange is it that I wonder if your title of 'chief' makes any sense? After all you obey an Orc... their leader? Not even. I suppose a simple messenger came to you and sent you here. This is how your tribe is treated. For the Orcs, you are mere minions, laborers and helpers at mercy. So I wondered why you obey those who despise you. And I think I understood. You're cowardly. You are afraid of the great Orcs, so you do what they tell you to do. Are you irritated? Why? These are just words. If they were false, these words should inspire you with pity. If I am wrong, prove it!"

The tone was not even provocative. She simply stated the facts as it appeared to her and it was probably exactly what to say because Demog seemed to empty his anger. Instead of fighting back, he turned to his tribe, looking at his warriors, their wolves, the few trolls he had left, the last shaman, and the remaining ogres. He had suffered heavy losses during the Battle of Koeglin. All for what?

"You're right, human vermin. I don't belong here. I hate the humans who drove us out of our ancestral lands, exiled us to the mountains. But I hate at least as much the Orcs who exploit us and use us in their wars. I will go, go back to the mountains. Slaughter yourselves Orcs, humans... kill each other... blush this earth with blood. I'll look and when you're weak, I'll come back... I'll kill, I'll plunder.

Drinking a new sip of tea, Saber opined:

"I'll be waiting for you, Chief Demog."

The King of the Knights and the Goblin defied each other for a moment, and then Demog the Unhealthy stood up laughing. He waved to his assistants and rejoined his tribe. A few minutes later, they were leaving the canyon...

Diplomacy is the art of winning battles without fighting them. Contrary to what Clausewitz said: "War is **NOT** the continuation of diplomacy by other means." War is the failure of diplomacy.

* * *

Two more days had passed.

Fighting continued around Red Boar Orca Fort. Although there had been no disaster comparable to the first attack, Verandia's expedition had marked the step, unable to reach the gates of the fort. The defenses were too large, and they were too few. They were reduced to harassing the Orcs and Goblin camps scattered around and ambushing the patrols.  
It was during one of these raids that they had found a door leading to natural caves under the plateau. The place had been transformed into a vast cantonment.

The hidden lake was black under the vault covered with stalactites. In this karstic relief, the limestone was pierced like Swiss cheese by the action of groundwater. The liquid mirror, however, reflected multiple torches lit on the shore.

The scene saw a violent battle... one more.

The Reikrs (1) held a natural stone ramp rising from a tunnel at the same level as the waters of the lake and strove to prevent its climbing by a smaller troop. However... this proved impossible.

* * *

Shiro contorted himself, dodging the attacks of the Reikrs around him. The Goblinoids were blue-skinned colossi with powerful limbs. Their faces had rough features, quite similar to those of men, but fangs protruded from their lower jaws and extended beyond their upper lip. Clothed in fur armor, they were armed with wooden clubs with iron rings, two-faced axes, or coarse spears.

Plunging under the outstretched arm of a lancer, Shiro thrust Kanshou into his groin, causing blood to flow. As the mighty warrior fell to his knees, he rolled around to dodge another attack, jumped over the wounded, and mowed the opponent standing behind.

The Hero with Amber's Eyes was panting and sweat was running down his forehead.

Individually, these "Reikrs" was not so formidable opponents. They were stronger than humans, but nothing like a Servant. Only, the more he killed, the more they came.

Because of exhaustion, Shiro was making mistakes.

A club hit him in the temple. Shaken, he staggered, blood flowing from his skinned forehead. An eye closed, grimacing with pain, he threw himself back to avoid a second attack and then turned around to cross his blades, blocking a two-handed axe wielded by a Reikr who had just appeared in his back. The blue-skinned warrior raised his weapon again... but collapsed.

Two other blue goblins collapsed, hit by a flock of black projectiles haloed in red light.

Shiro smiled at Rin, who lowered her arm. Around her, the melee was not less confused than on his side, but Gonderic de Bel-Amant covered her with his shield, while Estienne de Vignonne led the Verandia militiamen who cleaned the access ramp of the opponents who had survived their offensive.  
Shiro made an attack, counter-attacked. Bakuya slit the throat of one of the enemies while its twin was pushed into the belly of another. He leaps aside... releasing the bridal blades that dispersed into blue butterflies, before summoning a long red spear that oozed a terrible thirst for blood.

Twirling Gae Bolg into his expert hands, Shiro pierced and tore the flesh around him before jumping forward.

* * *

Merlin was often considered the greatest of the _Magi_ of the medieval era, his fame being unsurpassed even in the contemporary era. To find a more powerful spellcaster, one would have had to look for Solomon or the _Magi_ of the Age of the Gods.

The half-incubus, however, believed that the _Magecraft_ was almost totally useless in combat. He used it most often only to weaken his enemies, immobilize them or boost his allies.  
Seeing a dozen Reikrs throwing themselves at him, visibly certain to shred quickly "the poor magician unable to use his spells in contact", Merlin could not prevent to mimic the greatest panic... before cutting in two his first opponent.

"Just kidding~!"

In his hands had appeared a sword with a blade ignited by a golden fire... a replica of Excalibur.  
Of course, its power did not compare to the original. However, for those who knew that Merlin had taught the Art of the Sword at Artoria, seeing a blade in his hands was not subject to mockery.

Turning on himself, Merlin wielded his wand with one hand, like a shield, while the point of his sword was aimed at the throat and face of his enemies... Having emptied around him, he stopped, planting the sword deep into the stone floor.

The replica of Excalibur began to radiate and a wave of golden light formed, ascending the slope to incinerate several dozen goblinoids.

A fuzzy shape jumped over Merlin, fell down near a Reikr who collapsed... split in half... rushed over the next... killing him equally. Using **Combination Air**, Artoria Pendragon moved so fast that she was only seen as a vague blue and silver silhouette.

Once the impulse that propelled her forward exhausted, Saber fell back to the ground to be immediately surrounded by a pack of opponents who closed on her. Every warrior held up a weapon, a spear, an axe, a club... Not showing any concern, the King of Knights merely wielded his invisible sword and released all the power of the **Mana Burst** with one blow.

Electric arcs were born all around her, striking the foe horde. Burned, electrocuted, the enemies slaughtered on the ground in a vast circle.

The panic seized the blue-skinned Goblinoids. They faced a monster resembling a little teenage girl... most ordinary warriors fled.

However, three Reikrs with better equipment converged on Artoria. The first held a two-handed sword covered with frost. The second had a bow marked with purple and luminous runes. The third wore the fur robes of a shaman and a heavy spiral-headed wand.

The chief of the Reikr tribe of Red Tongues advanced on the battlefield, escorted by his two brothers.

* * *

While the archer sent a few arrows to Saber, who blocked and dodged with agility, the Reikr armed with a two-handed sword rushed into contact to exchange a few blows with Saber.

Behind the chief, his brother the shaman cast to him buff on buff:

"Feet of Notorgo"

"Nimbleness"  
"Orc Strength"

"Jack of Trades"

"Fortitude"  
The effects added to each other, Amokron, the chief of the Reikr tribe, became able to fight almost equally with Artoria. The latter remained advantaged by her invisible sword. However, she had to constantly keep the Reikr's Chief between her and his bow armed brother.

The icy blade of Amorkon struck the invisible sword of Saber, at every encounter sparked rains. Calm and balanced, Artoria remained on the defensive, her eyes going from one Reikr to another.

If one asked why King Arthur was a legendary warrior, many immediately evoked Excalibur. But Artoria Pendragon was not a simple Sacred Sword bearer. In the first place, her Dragon Core gave superhuman strength and endurance. Plus, she had a fighting instinct that literally allowed her to predict an attack even before it was launched.

However, these innate advantages pale before the greatest talent of Artoria. She was a seasoned swordswoman who spent years training and fighting all kinds of adversaries. Her experience gave her technical superiority over most swordsmen.

Apparently pushed into her final entrenchments by the trio that coordinated against her, Saber remained in fact on the defensive because she analyzed their fighting technique, seeking loopholes to exploit.

The shaman was content to renew the "buffs" that allowed his brother to fight well beyond his limits. The face dripping with sweat, it held the shock by absorbing potions of magicka.

The archer followed the fight, a notched arrow, seeking to shoot though unable because Artoria remained in _Tight Play_ (2).

Suddenly, Saber leaped forward. Turning her sword, she struck Amorkon with a slap in the face. As the opponent staggered, the knight grabbed his arm to immobilize him before raising her sword (3)... and jumping back to dodge a volley of arrows.

The shaman raised his staff:

"Sphere of Negation"

The bubble of energy that he projected towards Saber was a terrifying force of destruction. Except that the King of Knights threw herself out of its path. The projectile struck a piece of rock which was marked with a deep notch of vitrified stone... the rest having been disintegrated.  
While the archer kept Artoria occupied by his continual fire, the shaman turned to his brother to heal his wounds and exhaustion:

"Balyna's Balm"

"Stamina"  
He added an additional buff to reinforce the shaky will of the Reikr leader:

"Willpower"  
Then he uses a spell to attack Artoria:

"Sleep"  
The knight's magic resistance protected her from the sleeping spell, but Armorkon threw himself forward. His icy blade and the invisible sword again opposed. The two fighters almost seemed to dance together, striking, blocking, and dodging.

At any moment, the shaman or the bowman interfered in the duel either to attack Artoria or to protect their brother. If Saber had been limited to sword skill, the fight would have continued until the adversaries were exhausted.

The King of Knights raised the Sword of Promised Victory:

"**Starlight Convergence**!"

The Barrier of the Winds King violently fluctuated in a gale accompanied by the dazzling light of Excalibur suddenly released from its air sheath.

The three Reikrs, blinded by the brilliance and thrown to the ground by the sudden hurricane, were unable to defend themselves. Neglecting Amorkon, Saber threw herself on his two brothers and chopping them in an instant.

She had no shame in eliminating this kind of adversary when they were no longer able to fight... After all, they themselves had attacked her remotely without putting themselves in danger. Nevertheless, Artoria Pendragon planted her sword in the ground, crossing her hands on the weapon's pommel. Chivalrous, she waited for the enemy leader to recover from the shock.

Shaking his head to get his ideas right, Amorkon makes a roar.

There was a new exchange of blows then Saber faked an attack. Pretending to attack with a powerful blow to the head, she diverted her blade at the last second while the Reikr raised his weapon to protect his face. Pressing her palm against the blade, Artoria changed the course of Excalibur towards the throat of her enemy.

The head still casketed bounces two or three times before the decapitated body falls backward.

* * *

Demaion the pack leader looked at the head of Amorkon.

The goblin looked comically surprised:

"I never thought I'd see him dead."

Artoria Pendragon took a sip of tea and smiled:

"He was a tough opponent. I understand your brother's defeat."

The goblin chief shrugged his shoulders:

"I don't care... that he was killed and devoured by Reikrs just proves he wasn't fit to be a leader."  
Artoria remained impassive, but Shiro looked at the chief of the Bloodthirsty Wolves with a mixture of disgust and surprise.

These new negotiations took place in a vast cave beneath the plateau. The goblin tribe of the Bloodthirsty Wolves controlled the underground access to Red Boar Orc Fort. After an initial negotiation, Chief Demaion had confessed his long enmity with the Reikr tribe of Red Tongues.  
To negotiate the passage, Artoria Pendragon was reminded that the small gifts nurtured friendship. So she led the assault on the Red Tongues and killed their leader Amorkon.

"But you had to avenge your predecessor... as a leader."

As Demaion the pack leader approved with a nod the intervention of Rin Tohsaka, the _Magus_ added with a cold smile:  
"And we did it."

"It is true, humans, you have defeated our enemies. And if you enter the Orc Fort, you may be able to inflict great losses on them."

He spits on the ground in contempt of the tyrants who oppressed his tribe but remained silent for a moment, and then took a key from his belt:

"Here, the door is protected by spells; you can't open it without this."

Rin, Artoria, and Shiro exchanged satisfied looks. They arrived at the end of their trials. The Red Boar Fort was the last obstacle to the liberation of Alcaire.

* * *

(1) Reikrs are goblinoids resembling blue-skinned Orcs. They are, however, much more primitive than the Orcs and dress in furs.

(2) With a two-handed sword, there are two "plays" characterized by the distance at which the blades intersect during the parry. In the _Large Play (Jeu Large _in French), a certain distance is maintained between the fighters. Attacks are given with the end of the blade and the tip. The movements are fast and wide. The _Large Play_ favors the offensive because the blows are given in wide movements, which remove the sword from the chest exposing it more to counter-attacks.

On the contrary, in the _Tight Game_ (_Jeu Serré_, in French) the blows are delivered which the part of the blade closest to the guard, the part called in French "Le Fort de la Lame" (the strong part of the blade). The blows are slower but more forceful. The _Tight Game_ favors the defensive and powerful blows and allows less vulnerability for swordsman since he exposes less his chest.

(3) Technique inspired by dagger play, precisely by the _Third Game of the Dagger Master_. It is actually practiced with the two-handed sword... it does not need to be as strong as Artoria to hold with one hand this kind of blade.


	32. Chapter 31 The Fall of the Red Boar

**The Fall of the Red Boar**

* * *

The Red Boar Fort was shaken by an explosion that threw a column of red flames to the sky. While the echoes of the blast were still rolling between the hills, the grey clouds that obscured the firmament seemed to convulse. Ghost lights appeared in the heavens before lightning fell in the middle of the large rectangle delimited by the palisades.

Contrary to the saying that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, a real harrow of lightning falls on the bastion. The gleaming zigzags formed without ceasing, wounding the eye of the beholder of this apocalypse, while his ears resounded only with the rolling of thunder.  
Even for an idiot, it would have been obvious that a supernatural power was raging over the Orc fort.

* * *

Merlin swallowed, pressing heavily on his magician's staff. His face had taken on a sallow complexion. As his hands groped on his belt to open his satchel and take a potion filled with a blue liquid, his eyes ran across the battlefield.

A few delayed flashes fell here and there, striking the silhouettes of Orcs rising up...  
Everywhere else was standing thick clouds of smoke mixed with dust. The air stink ozone while static electricity made everyone's hair stand up.

At the sight of such carnage, it was better understood that Merlin did not like to use his powers. As he drank the potion of Magicka, a clear voice resounded among the smoking ruins:  
"Soldiers of Verandia, let us put an end to this nightmare, forward, towards victory!"

Leaping over the disorganized Orc phalanx, a fuzzy shape falls passed like a tornado in their ranks, mowing down fighters, disappearing to reappear further.

Accustomed to the prodigies constantly provoked by their young leader, the Bretons militiamen were moved by jubilation and enthusiasm:

"Lady Artoria is a goddess of war!"

"We've never seen a greater war leader since Tiber Septim!"

"Merlin is right, she will found a kingdom!"

Archers handed the ropes of their weapons. For a long time, they fired only Orcs arrows, having fired all their own. The projectiles struck among the masses of combatants who were still not engaged, the latter retreated, lifting their shields.

For the first time since the beginning of the war... the Orcs hesitated. This reaction was understandable... Despite a clear numerical superiority, they had suffered several stinging defeats, cut to pieces by powers they did not recognize.

The Goblins had passed the stage of hesitation. Here or there, a chief was haranguing his troops so that they evacuate the camp as soon as possible! Elsewhere, tribes without leaders, disparate bands, solitary individuals spontaneously converged towards the gates.

For them, the fort had ceased to be a shelter to become a rat trap!

But the doors were locked. The escapees were turned away by the Orcs guards, while the shamans called archers who gathered on the way of the palisade walkway.

Having stopped, Artoria contemplated the altercation with a frown. Having pushed back the first ranks of Orcs, Verandia's soldiers gathered behind her while one of the shamans had just straightened herself ordering to shoot the escapees... an arrow pierced the Orc throat.

* * *

Shiro was standing on the roof of a rough building made of unmarked logs. A second arrow had just appeared on its large black bow and struck an Orc that pointed its bow at the crowd of routed Goblins.

As the battle broke out between Goblins and Orcs for the control of the gates, the Amber's Eyed Hero was slaying the archers and shamans stationed near the gates. Under the pressure of the escapees, the doors leafs opened wide, disgorging thousands of terrorized fighters who sought only to flee as far as possible from this carnage...

* * *

Her legs covered with bright lines, Rin ran like the wind, swiftly slipping between the fighters when she simply did not jump over them. Sometimes, she struck an Orc with a _gandr_ but without turning away from her goal, a tower near the door of where archers and shamans fired at the fleeing Goblins.  
When she arrived at the foot of a shaky staircase leading to the walkway, she dodged an arrow drawn by a guard and replied with a volley of black projectiles haloed in red. Without even verifying if the opponent was dead, she rushed to the top of the steps.

The log tower was at the end of the elevated road. Except that a small troop of shamans and warriors in armor stood between her and her objective.

An evil smile appeared on the lips of the _Red Magus_, while her eyes narrowed until they were no more than thin slits:

"_Neun, acht, sieben... Stil schießt, Beschießung erschießen_!"

She threw a handful of small soul gems at the defenders. The gems broke as they hit the Orcs. For perhaps... a second... nothing seemed to happen, then crystals appeared in the affected place... growing... merging... In less than five seconds, all the enemies found themselves enclosed in a giant crystal, frozen like insects caught in an amber cast.

Without dwelling on the lives she had just taken, Tohsaka leaped to the door of the tower.

* * *

Shiro Emiya had seen Rin running to one of the two towers that defended the door.  
He knew his friend and... lover well. Despite all her faults, she had a gentle heart. While the battle was raging between the Bretons and the Orcs, Tohsaka wanted to help the Goblins who were trying to escape.

His arrows had cleared her way without even being seen by his friend. Letting his bow fade into blue _pran_a butterflies, the Amber Eyed Blacksmith stretched out both hands in front of him, looking for plans of his favorite weapons in his _Reality Marble_:

"_Trace On_!"

He leaps into the middle of the battlefield, spinning about like a whirling dervish, the Married Blades mowed down several Orcs. However, it was only a step for Shiro. _Strengthening _the muscles of his legs, he jumped up to the roundabout road leading to the second tower. There were guards and shamans. The young archer threw Kanshou before him. Similar to a sharp boomerang, the rotating blade plunged into the mass of enemies, wounding and killing before returning to it.  
Shiro make a somersault over the fighters he had just neutralized, caught the short Chinese saber with one hand before throwing its twin blades in the direction of the warriors still able to fight.  
When his two feet crossed the threshold of the tower, behind him, there remained no enemies capable of fighting.

* * *

Every battle knows a point of balance, a moment when things can continue to favor the camp that dominated the confrontation... or be reversed.

Exhausted by the deployment of power that he had orchestrated at the beginning of the fight, Merlin was content to heal the wounded or weaken enemies; retaining his strength for... well... no one had ever died to be careful, right?

In any case, he could sit comfortably and enjoy the spectacle. Wherever he turned his eyes, panic spread in the foe ranks. Most of the Goblins were already in disarray and the Orcs were starting to throw their weapons and start running.

Suddenly he frowned...

Six colossal figures were advancing towards the heart of the confrontation... These giants were dressed in fur loincloths with a belt of human skulls. They had the skin of a dirty white, the head completely bald with vague eyes and a limp and slimy mouth that made them look like complete cretins. However, nobody wanted to make fun of them. Their body was only a mass of swollen muscles and the club they brandish was as large as a young tree, a threat more than enough to impose silence.

And they were headed straight for Artoria.

Worried, Merlin rose to better distinguish the fight between his King and this primitive monsters...

* * *

In the smoke, in the middle of the corpses littering the ground, she seemed to draw to her all the light. The dying themselves looked only at her, blown away by this incredibly beautiful teenager.  
Her blond hair was tied by a blue ribbon in a braid wrapped in the back of her head, shiny as if sprinkled with pure gold. Her skin was like ivory, white, and without blemish. Her eyes were emeralds.  
Her outfit, a blue dress embellished with a few gold threads on white petticoats, disappeared partly under a silver armor breastplate, gloves, and metal boots, as well as an incredible skirt of metal blades that protected her sides.

She literally seemed to dance with death.

The woman in armor held an invisible blade. It could only be discerned by brief air distortions or by a blue light that briefly appeared when the knight blocked an attack.

The Orcs kept coming after her...

She cut the arrows of their archers in the air...

She received the spells of the shamans without seeming to be bothered...

Then she leaped to fall among the adversaries who attacked her from afar and mowed them with her invisible blade.

As for the warriors who confronted her at close range, she offered them a few graceful dance steps before they collapsed...

Even when her enemies managed to inflict a slight wound, always the slightest ones, the blood stopped to flow after a few moments and even the scar eventually disappeared.

Saber danced on the battlefield, her invisible sword in her hands, as beautiful and untouchable as a goddess of death.

By reflex, Artoria jumped back as a huge mass hit the ground where it was held. The legendary King Arthur folded her eyes, contemplating the Ogre foaming with rage that stood before her.  
Shaking her hands more tightly on the guard of Excalibur, she glanced at her right and left to see other colossi running towards her. Saber waited until the last moment to dodge their attack by a new leap backward. From the tip of the blade, she lifted up the mud mixed with melted snow and blood that constituted the ground and then sent it into the eyes of one of her adversaries to blind him.

As he collided with another Ogre, beating him in his irritation and receiving blows in return, Artoria Pendragon smiled... The impulsive and stupid opponents were a blessing.

However, her expression quickly became neutral.

Of course, she did not fear a lonely Ogre. She had defeated one with just a goblin spear during the Battle of the Bjoulsae. But... six... it was more difficult.

Her third dodge brought her under the canopy which protected crates and barrels piled against the wall of a warehouse.

Two of the ogres followed her... except that they were too big and too wide to pass. Too dumb to get around the obstacle or separate, they bothered each other. As they smashed crates and barrels to advance and entangled more, Artoria struck an opponent at the hip... The blade sank deep and the monster screamed of pain as the knight was retreating in a jump who led her to the awning of the nearby warehouse and from there to the roof of this building.

A glance below showed her the agony of the first Ogre.

From a mighty leap, she fell just in front of one of the monsters chasing her. The enemy wasted no time thinking and sought to crush the opponent who stood before him... Saber took a step aside, dodging the club from a hair length and blocking it on the ground by putting her foot on it. A stroke for counter axes, spears and two-handed swords known as the _Coup du Paysan_.

The Ogre showed a stupefied countenance when, bandaging his knotty muscles, he tried to lift his weapon without succeeding.

Artoria, seeing that another Ogre was heading in her direction, did not play any longer. spinning before the eyes of the monster, her dress dancing like the corolla of a flower caught in the wind, she struck... cutting her opponent in half at waist level.

Chased by the two closest enemies, she leaps up to grab the floor of the covered way with one hand before pulling herself up.

The Orcs archers who saw her coming opened big eyes terrified... by her or the two Ogres who were climbing the rampart after her.

Except that the first monster that raised his head at the height of Artoria lost it. She blew it head off its shoulders...

With a pout of disgust, without taking advantage of her dominant position to kill the second monster, the King of Knights jumped to the ground in search of an opponent able to fight back.  
Having accelerated her speed thanks to the _Wind King's Slash_, a technique combining _Mana Burst_ with a lowering of atmospheric pressure, Saber seemed to materialize in front of an Ogre. He remained speechless, unable to exercise a defensive move.

Saber's invisible sword pierced him in the chest. However, as the knight sought to remove her blade to leave her enemy to his agony, the monster seized Excalibur from one of his enormous hands, raising high his club:

"Krush the head!"

The corner of Artoria's lips folded in what approached a pooing... she had just made a stupid mistake. Except that she was not out resources...

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  
It seemed incredible that such a powerful cry could come out of the throat of such a small woman. The Ogre was surprised and hesitated... a brief moment... during which the power of the _Mana Burst_ poured into the invisible blade whose air sheath fluctuated... revealing a golden light and blue flames.  
Then the monster, in turn, screamed as the blue flames devoured him before shooting towards the sky in a prodigious column that joined the low clouds.

There was a moment of stupefied silence.

Artoria was always in the same place, now holding Excalibur wrapped in a golden aura. However, the colossus had been transformed into a curled, burning, smoking figure, held upright only by the blade still planted in his chest.

Then... suddenly, the column of fire fell back on the burned remains, it became a silver lance as incandescent as the sun, disintegrating the Ogre leaving only a crater with vitrified edges behind it.

Artoria merely looked around the circle of silent people. No more noise was heard... The bowmen have immobilized an arrow in hand. The shamans still pointed their magical wands. Swords and scimitars were still raised on defenseless chests, but no one thought of fighting. They all looked at her.  
As Saber's eyes stopped on one of the surviving Ogres, the monster uttered a cry of terror, turned around... and began to run heavily to escape the one who had killed his comrades. This reaction seemed to bring everyone out of their trance.

The Orcs dropped their weapons and fled to the door... In a state of absolute panic, they thought only of taking shelter away from Saber.

* * *

Merlin smiled when he saw the confounding scene. Although no one could hear it, he could not help but be ironic:

"Oh, they seem to have been caught up in such a sudden nostalgia crisis for their natal caverns. I doubt they'll stop running before they reach the Wrothgar Mountains... "

* * *

The city of Koeglin resounded with songs and laughter.  
The population crowded the streets, gathering around the fire of joys, putting barrels in a hole.  
It was a carnival of scenes of happiness. Eliaranna, the cantankerous aldmer, danced with Orthelon the alchemist. Cirthile, his beautiful niece, french-kissed a militiaman whose name she did not even know. Others danced around the Sleepy Sailor inn.

After several months of siege and fighting, the Orcs were in disarray.

The largest gathering was around the manor of Mordane Hawkstone, Baron of Koeglin. Everyone was looking to see the heroes who had allowed this victory... the first offensive victory since the beginning of the war.

* * *

The largest room in Koeglin's Baron Mansion had been used as a war room and had just been restored to its original role. A large table had been set up, welcoming dozens of guests in a slightly less noisy atmosphere than that of the people communing in the streets of the city.  
Mordane Hawkstone was a Breton that looked very much like Artoria Pendragon with green and oblique eyes, and blond hair with an elegance that betrayed his elvish origins. The young aristocrat looked embarrassed at Shiro, who was returning from the kitchen with his arms full of the dishes that had been concocted.

"Finally, Mr. Emiya, you should be at the table and not cooking. You are one of the heroes of this battle!"  
But the young redhead scratched the back of the skull while pouting. Even after meeting Emperor Uriel VII several times, he still had not learned to speak to Tamriel's noblemen.

"It's that I love cooking and it's been two weeks since I had a real kitchen."

A sound roar interrupted them. The eyes of all the guests (amused or surprised) turned to Artoria. The young woman succeeds in keeping a perfectly innocent appearance... as if her hungry stomach did not come to imitate the thunder... while an adorable trace of rose had just appeared on her cheeks.  
Coughing in her fist, the legendary King Arthur spoke:

"Baron Hawkstone, I assure you that Shiro loves to cook more than anything. This is his way of calming his nerves after the trials of these last days. Please, let him do it. Plus... you'll never eat better."  
Could Mordane refuse his guests of honor to use his kitchen for convenience? He shook his head, amused by the situation. The Breton knight pointed to the very elaborate dish that Shiro had just placed before him:

"And what do you call this, Mr Emiya?"

"An Okonomiyaki... a kind of omelet. But since I didn't have all the ingredients, I replaced some with local equivalents."

Taking his fork, Mordane cut a small piece of the Japanese omelet and brought it to his mouth.

"It's... very good! All my congratulations, I see that Lady Artoria does not rent without reason your talents as a cook. Even if you weren't an archer and a mage like there aren't many in this world, the lords of the Empire would argue for you to organize their banquets. What's in this Oko... mikayi?"

"Okonomiyaki", corrected Shiro, "As it's a kind of omelet, the main ingredient is eggs. It also includes flour, chives, shrimp, cabbage, and bacon."

Tohsaka, who practically had a drink with all the militiamen who had invited her since their entry into town, was staring empty-eyed at the banquet table, shaken by untimely hiccups... perfectly drunk.

Shaking her torpor, she suddenly threw herself at Shiro:

"You! Don't move... "

She looked at the Amber-eyed _Magus_ and shook her head:

"Actually... What do I see in you? You're a complete idiot... a heroic... and cute idiot... but an idiot..."

Embarrassed in his turn, Shiro had a forced laugh trying to push away his favorite friend/foe. She caught him by the chin plunging her eyes into his own.

"Uh... Toh... Tohsaka?"

"Shiro... marry me!"

While Shiro remained ruled, the Red Demon closed her grip on him, riding on his lap. Her eyes turned to Artoria who looked at them, seeking to hide her jealousy:

"Saber!"  
Artoria stood up, almost at attention:

"Rin?"  
"Marry me!"

The King of the Knights shook her head, shared between fun, embarrassment, and also... a feeling of deep affection.

"You are drunk."

"So what? It's not because I drank too much that I don't want to marry you."

"You just made the same offer to Shiro!"

The nauseous look, Rin reeked of a new hiccup... seemed to reflect and took a serious look barely disturbed by her greenish face:

"Yes... I know... I have a solution. You're also marrying Shiro, so we're all three together. Isn't that the ideal solution?"

"Rin, it's no longer called marriage and I don't think it exists."

"Well, then it's simple... we make you the queen? King?... what does it matter... something like that and you change the laws!"

While Mordane was concentrating on his plate and Shiro was shaking his head with an absolutely desperate air, Artoria turned to Merlin:

"Do you know a spell that cures drunkenness?"

The Magician of Flowers had a large smile: "naturally, my king."

"So, could you please use it?"

"On Rin?"

Saber's eyes were full of fire:

"Naturally, this situation embarrasses everyone!"

"No..."  
"Sorry?"  
"My king, if I cure her, who will cheer this party?"

* * *

Mordane Hawkstone, Baron of Koeglin, looked at his guests with a little dismay. Rin Tohsaka was becoming more and more enterprising with Shiro... busy containing the adorable drunkenness, Merlin who played deaf in front of his "King" who was angrier and angrier.

Who could guess by seeing them they are the four heroes who had saved his barony from the horde of Goblins and Orcs that besieged it? Twelve days ago, he wondered how to protect Koeglin from the horde of 10,000 to 17,000 Orcs and Goblins that surrounded the city.

And then they arrived with two hundred men... a laughable reinforcement.

And then, now, the horde was in disarray, leaving five to eight thousand dead behind.

What they had succeeded was at the height of the feat of Tiber Septim, at Sancre Tor (1)

Who were they, then?

Heroes or... family?

* * *

1) Battle of Sancre Tor: In 2 E 852, the Allied armies of Skyrim and Hight-Rock invaded Cyrodiil. The general of King Cuhlecain of Colovia, a certain "Talos" (the future emperor Tiber Septim, the unifier of the continent) replied by raising an army in the middle of winter. Greatly outnumbered, ill-armed, poorly trained, ill-equipped, this troop advanced on a forced march to join a confident enemy who had settled in the Sancre Tor valley, easy to defend. Through treason and incredible tactical talent, Talos returned the trap against his foes.

* * *

**Author's Note: Don't make Rin drink!**


	33. Chapter 32 The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note: I read all the messages that readers send me, including Private Messages. I don't always answer it, then I don't always have the time. To give some general answers, I gave a lot of information in the "special" chapter. Most of the other questions will not be answered... because it would be revealing important elements of the story. I also feel quite annoyed by the remarks of some readers who almost accuse me of making the characters of Fate Stay Night act like... well themselves. Yes, Shiro acts like Shiro. So what? I am of the opinion that if I had made Shiro or Rin act differently, I would have received so many criticisms and probably from the same people.**

* * *

**The Beginning of the End...**

* * *

6 Sun's Dawn, Refuge, Menevia Kingdom

Not a single ray of sunlight touched Refuge.

A misty shroud hid the sky. A sprawling hydra fed by the flames of a thousand blazes. The capital of the kingdom of Menevia lay in chaos of ruins. The buildings once proudly erected were desolate. The streets and squares were now covered with rubble.

Even at a distance, the walls resounded with dull rumbling, transformed by the shelling into gigantic resonance boxes. _Bang_, _bang_ the crash was reflected from place to place. It pervaded the flesh, flowed through the veins, infiltrated the bones, invaded dreams and memory becoming as intimate to the body as was the beating of the heart.

Valendil Ceberhas used an observation tower on the third wall as his headquarters. From its hoarding, the imperial general contemplated a spectacle even more terrifying than the crash of the projectiles. The plain and surrounding hills were covered with black or green armors that converged on the investment trenches.

"Watch out!"

Leontius grabbed his general by the shoulder and showed him an enemy trebuchet. The warning came too late. The arm of the war machine had just relaxed. In an instant the ball of fire grew disproportionately, leaving an igneous mark on its passage. Fortunately, the firebrand missed the tower a few meters to crash in the middle of the nearby streets. At the point of impact, a new column of smoke stinks of the atmosphere, testifying to the birth of yet another outbreak of fire.  
Ceberhas shivered, aware of the danger of the situation. Turned towards the _Couillard_(1) firing platform, he called the servants, dressed with the tabard decorated with three yellow roses of the kingdom of Menevia, ordering them to destroy the enemy trebuchet before it did any more damage.  
The Bretons militiamen had identified the danger and were already active. Before the besiegers could rectify the attack, a block of rock crashed on their machine, destructing it completely.  
Satisfied, Valendil returned to the disturbing scene that took place a few yards away. Three gigantic five-storey assault towers had crossed a section of the ditch filled by the orcs engineers. The first was already approaching a part of the wall weakened by the bombing. The wooden protections had been broken up and the parapets had been clipped, depriving the defenders of all shelter.

Yet a hero was watching over the city. Without him, it would have fallen a long time ago.

* * *

A figure dressed in black leather armor, wrapped in a scarlet coat, jumped on one of the clipped walls. The wind lifted his hood, revealing his face... With his tanned skin, his silver eyes, and his white hair, many women swooned on the passage of the impressive warrior... But, above all, his sudden appearance caused a panic among the goblin archers charged of pushing the besieged out of the walkway. They also recognized him... but they were much less enthusiastic than the girls of Refuge.

No doubt they would have fled without the presence of Orcs in Orichalcum armors. Passing through the ranks of the goblins, whipping the small humanoids on the fly, shouting threats, the guards forced the archers to notch their bows and shoot their arrows towards the figure standing on the ruined walls.

Archer had a caustic smile and raised his hand:

"**Rho Aias**!"

A red clarity radiating around a white core, centered on his palm, illuminated the ramparts. Suddenly, the brightness was replaced by an amazing five-petaled flower that bloomed before the hand of Fuyuki's Fifth Grail War Archer.

The legendary shield of Aias the Great was a _Conceptual Weapon_ offering an absolute defense in front of any thrown weapon. Obviously, the version _Traced_ by Archer didn't equal the original but...  
Seeing the clouds of goblin arrows coming to break upon the translucent aegis, one understood the arrogance of the reincarnated Servant. Even a thousand arrows couldn't hurt him.

Under the protection of Rho Aias, Archer drew his big black bow. Then the ex-Servant extended the other hand... a slight contraction of his face and appeared a strange sword. Its blade was not flat but looked like a corkscrew.

Placing the sword on his bow, he stretched the rope and... the sword lengthened, thinned... turning into a strange arrow wrapped in an increasingly intense red glow.

Dissolving his shield, Archer released the rope of his bow with shouting the name of the Noble Phantasm that he had just caught from _Unlimited Bladework_:

"**Caladbolg**!"  
The legendary sword of King Fergus - transformed into an arrow - crosses the sound barrier in a deafening "bang"... not leaving the goblins a moment to prepare for the arrival of the _Broken Phantasm_. The sword-arrow disintegrated by touching one of the siege towers. Immediately a dazzling white light burst upon the battlefield, briefly depriving everyone of sight. A moment later, the violent explosion deprived the audience of hearing.

When the defenders' senses returned, they could only discover a ravaged landscape. The goblin assault trenches, their outposts, even the siege towers had disappeared. The fire burned several hundred meters around, centered on a large crater.

* * *

Unfortunately, the assault was general. In dozens of other points, the siege towers advanced towards Refuge's walls. Archer could not be everywhere and the defenders, exhausted and their ranks lightened by eight months of siege, they no longer had the strength to resist such an assault.  
Some siege towers were set on fire or destroyed... but even more, reached the fortifications. When the first drawbridge came down on the second rampart, a formidable cry was heard coming out of the throat of a horde of Goblins. Rushing to the assault, they spread themselves on the walkway.  
"Now!"  
The legate Trebonius had just brandished his sword to designate the assailants he was overlooking from the third rampart. The imperial archers he commanded, wearing chainmail and light iron helmets, dropped a volley of arrows that opened a gaping hole in the ranks of the Goblins. Touched by lethal wounds, humanoids flapped their arms and fall to the bottom of the ramparts. Their cries of terror and pain made the first ranks hesitate but behind them, others replaced them.

At the gates of the towers, the Goblins stumbled upon a phalanx of imperial lancers. The humanoid warriors hurled insults and rushed forward, determined to take the obstacle by a brutal assault.

However, violence was insufficient. Formed as a turtle, the Imperials ranks was a fortress with a wall made of tiles-like shields bristling with spear points. While the Imperials stacked the corpses in front of their lines, the archers placed on the third rampart decimated the enemy's rear. The determination of the Green Skins was shaken. Nevertheless, the danger was not yet eliminated. Other mobile towers approached the walls.

The defenders fired several shots of flaming arrows to try to set them on fire. Alas, the enemy had anticipated. The towers were covered with fresh skins that had been coated with vinegar and then covered with earth.

Seeing the arrival of a new assault tower, the legate Trebonius swallowed. In this kind of desperate situation, wildfire performed miracles. It was a dreadful weapon, a deadly liquid that ignited at the slightest shock and which continued to burn even on water. Various means were used to project it to the enemy, from strident and unruly rockets to tubular flamethrowers. These were highly unstable death devices known to explode comprising a tank containing a mixture of very fluid oil and cedar resin. Pumped to a bronze tube protected by a shield, the incendiary liquid could be projected at about ten meters.

All of a sudden, there was a great rumble. A fireball followed by an igneous trail -as long as a spear- collided with a siege tower. Burning oil spread everywhere, communicating the fire to the plank structures. Horror seized the crew. The siege machine threatened by fire, they jumped into the void with atrocious howls.

The vision of their comrades transformed into living torches froze the goblins who had taken place on the walls. They broke free without looking back. Even the reserve regiments lost all courage, retreat seen to them healthier than an assault of this hell.

* * *

A formidable hurrah crossed the walkway. Wherever the eye looked, the enemy retreated.

"Your Excellency?"

Valendil abandoned his observation post to turn to the man who had just called him. He was a knight of the Order of the Rose in plain armor and armet helmet. One knee down, he waited for the general's permission to speak.

"What is going on?"

"I have just returned from Tower Sixty-seven, Excellency. Our situation is most precarious. The enemy managed to bring a ram just below the walls."

"A ram?" asked the imperial general.

The knight nodded:

'Yes, Excellence. It's gigantic and ogre-powered."

"Did you try to set it on fire?"

In a gesture, the Aldmer showed the towers that continued to burn. But the knight answered with an affirmative nod:

"The fire didn't catch." He hesitated… "In fact, the flames broke on some sort of… invisible wall."  
Valendil startled. For a moment he considered asking the Breton to repeat what he had just said. However, the tense expression of the knight informed him only too well of the reality of the information.  
"A wizard?"

"That's what I thought, too, Your Excellency."

Valendil put his hand on the shoulder of the prefect who led the cleaning of the last pockets of enemy resistance:

"Leontius!"  
The officer turned around:

"Yes, general?"

"Find me one of the guild mages. I need them to tower sixty-seven."

"Where do you want me to get it?"

"Ask King Eadwyre, these are his mage, after all, he must know how to find them."

Leontius was going to comply, but his general called him back:

"I need backup too."

The dubious air of his first officer struck Valendil:

"Is there a problem?"

"Not least," Leontius joked, "what reinforcements? Even women and children are mobilized to fight fires."  
The prefect led his chief to a section of the tower that dominated the square used for gathering the reserve troops. Apart from the cavalry company in charge of defending the general and some debris of units in sad condition, there was no one left.

"We are already committed to the limits of rupture."

"In that case, I'll go alone. Just find a mage."

Beckoning to the Knight of the Rose to open the way, Valendil descended the stairs at his heels. Only a small handful of Imperials' legionaries followed them.

When they reached the battlements, the little troop crossed the ranks of the archers to join the segment of the wall which dominated the one attacked by the ram. From the tower, one could not see the enemy sappers, too close to the second rampart. But the soldiers installed on the round road were clearly visible. To their helmets Gorodets (2) Valendil recognized the Refuge Guards, an elite unit. They had organized a human chain to throw stones and balls by the machicolations. Others reloaded the crossbows of the shooters concealed by the hoarding.

This sector of the fortifications had suffered greatly. One of the towers that framed the rampart had lost its top two floors. The covered way had partly collapsed. The breach was three meters wide and as high. At his feet, on the interior side, civilians and soldiers were busy. Scaffolding had been lifted to allow the workers to repair the damage. Assisted by pulleys, they hoisted blocks of stone and evacuated the rubble.

Quarrymen, diggers, and mortar spoilers had a most ungrateful job. What they rebuilt, the enemy worked hard to destroy.

"General Ceberhas?"

Observing the situation, Valendil had not waited for anyone to approach him. He turned around:  
"Who am I speaking to?"

The Breton who was advancing smiled. Despite the bloody bandage pressing his forehead, the man appeared in good disposition. The Elf shook his hand.

"I am the officer commanding this area. Thank you for coming so quickly. However, I believe that ultimately your help will be useless to us. Sorry to bother you."

"Did you kill him?"

"The sorcerer? Finally, yes. We have thrown mines at him. I hope I can now destroy the ram… "

A cry from the second line of defense cut him off. All eyes turned to the intact tower. A man had opened the window of the tower:

"The enemy is retreating!"

An acclamation concert greeted the news. On the nearby rampart, the Refuge Guards embraced, happy with the outcome.

Without transition, Valendil found himself on the ground while stones of all sizes bombarded the walkway while smoke and dust made him cough. His ears were still ringing with a great bang…  
Painfully straightened, the imperial general stopped to watch the walls dismantled. His mind struggling to understand what he saw. As by a fantastic landslide, more than six meters of fortification had collapsed ahead. The slope and the ditch had turned into a chaos of broken rocks.  
An undermining...

The assault was used to hide that the engineers had hidden a mine in the breach made by the ram. Its explosion had pulverized an entire sector of the fortifications.

Ceberhas shook himself, trying to escape the horrifying stupefaction that nailed him to the spot. The sound of trumpets and bugles was everywhere. The battalions that were in the trenches brandished their banners to rush towards the breach. Many wore siege ladders with them. At their sight, a click was heard in the mind of the aldmer general.

Shaking the soldiers and officers who were rising, Valendil pointed his sword at the ranks of the Orcs in armor:

"Open fire! Quick! All able-bodied men on the ramparts!"

Slowly the torpor was dissipating among the besieged. A Couillard, then two, archers, crossbowmen, began to shoot. Soon a hellfire concentrated on the assailants, decimating their ranks. But other battalions, many other battalions, left the trenches to charge into the breach.

Coming from other sections of the rampart, reinforcements poured on the ramparts. When the first ladders leaned on the walls, halberds, swords, and various projectiles welcomed the new arrivals.

* * *

15 Sun's Dawn, Refuge, Menevia Kingdom

The wind blew like a soul in sorrow and rattled the stench of decay, the humidity of the rain, and the smell of burnt wood.

A spit drifted over the sea, it rained and reminding us that spring had begun.

Refuge locked up in tense silence. Corpses were rotting in the ditches and along the ruined walls, thousands and thousands of bodies. Death had made them all alike, equal in the ultimate brotherhood. The units and enemies of the previous day mingled among the wrecks of the siege machines. Here, an assault tower still smoked, further, it was the dismantled carcass of a casemate on wheels.  
Time, motionless, hovered on the battlefield.

On the ramparts, the soldiers tried to rest a little longer. They did not leave their posts or their armor anymore. They would sleep there, without dropping their weapons. At times a soldier was seen moving or coughing, but the activity was as if engulfed in anxious inertia.

Two bretons officers, spewed, feverish eyes over a three-day beard were leaning against the hoarding. One of them held a spyglass pointed at the enemy camp.

"What is this rumor?"

Songs and music reached the walls weakly, deafened by the distance.

"Tribal shamans reshape troops. Enjoy their hymns, old man. When they stop, the assault will begin."  
He had no need to say that it would be the last. The previous general assault, ten days earlier, had allowed the capture of the second rampart. Since then, the besiegers had not stopped bombing and attacking the fortified positions of the third line. The garrison was at the end of its rope after several weeks of uninterrupted fighting. Conversely, the Orcs had instituted a rotation that allowed them to always have fresh troops on the front line.

* * *

In the camp of the army of Orsinium prevailed a hive activity in full turmoil. The artillerymen were busy around their rooms, greasing the mechanisms, piling up the stone balls. The trenches were full. Goblins and Orcs were checking their weapons one last time. Further away, out of reach of the garrison's Couillards, battalions were formed in squares. Others were still coming from the back in long columns. As far as the eyes go, the troops converged, more than a hundred thousand fighters.  
At the center of this organized disorder, there was a crowd core that did not move.

Shamans dressed in monstrous masks danced in ecstasy. They played flutes, bagpipes, sistrums, and drums, singing atrocious melodies. On a platform, three Orc dancers had embarked on warrior choreography. Proud and barbarian, they were naked, covered with sweat by their wild jousts. Their cemeteries were constantly clashing among the cries of the soldiers contaminated by their bellicose drunkenness.  
Above them sat Agraggush, the Orc warlord, surrounded by soldiers of his personal guard. As usual, he wore his strange deep black plate armor, crossed by red veins that glowed with a malevolent fire. Spikes and blades appeared all over the metal surface, giving it an ugly appearance... It was a daedric armor forged by mixing blood from a daedra - a demon from Oblivion- with molten ebony.

All around Agraggush, relics had been gathered from the defenders of Refuge: Piles of cut heads, armets and morions helmets, gauntlets. Flags of units covered the ground. There was even a splendid polychrome oriflamme hanging upside down. The white stallion which had been the emblem of Prince Pelagius can be recognized (3).

Judging that his troops had reached the height of excitement, Agragush raised his hand to demand silence. Straightened to his full height, he waved his sword towards the ruined walls. His speech was but a cry of hatred and disgust towards the besieged:

"The pale, soft-skinned vermin is hiding behind the dust walls of their lair. They don't dare face us. But the time has come for our triumph. With one breath we will tear down their ramparts. We will reverse them as a children's building game. Our anger will fill the sky and terrify the cowards lurking in their dens. We will tear their steel armor to rip off their stinking entrails. Their stupid bleating and vain prayers will no longer be heard. Their children will grow up forgetting them. Their companions will be our slaves. And their impure presence will no longer defile our country!

A formidable howl of enthusiasm aroused the gathering.

Agraggush smiled in himself, despising these gullible fools as much as his enemies. Madness made the eyes of the Orc shine. While waiting for the carnage, the beating of his heart accelerated. His patience and his long years of intrigue would soon bear fruit. Even King Gorthwog would have to recognize his power and authority. Then, who knows? All hopes were allowed…

* * *

The palace of the kings of Menevia was an impressive manor house with yellow stone walls and a roof of red tiles. The central building had three floors and was loaded with turrets; the two wings had only one floor.

The building was accessed through a French-style garden where the statues of gods were next to benches lined up under trees imported from distant lands. The door of the palace opened at the top of a colonnades' gallery accessible by a double monumental staircase.

Beyond, a large entrance hall extended. It was paved with marble and two large fountains decorated with statues decorated it.

Usually, the place offered a serene and majestic vision to visitors. But the vestibule had been transformed into a field hospital. Without a look, Archer crossed rows of precarious litter boxes. Men covered with bloody clothes were delirious or groaning. The overloaded healers went from one to the other, trying to bring a little comfort to the poor cripple. Unfortunately, they lacked everything. Without laudanum and opium, the orderlies could no longer do much to relieve pain. The wounds were infected because the turpentine was gone and the oil was missing.

Other nurses wore stretchers from nearby rooms. Exhausted, they staggered under the weight they carried. The surgeons were not much better. The blood-stained blouses, with empty eyes, they ate or slept among their patients.

Even after centuries, Archer could not contain the helpless rage he felt at the sight of time of suffering. He had worked his whole life to save the unfortunate. He had devoted himself without asking anything and he only received the betrayal in response.

Dead, the man who called himself "Archer", had served Alaya. For this entity, he had killed all those who represented a danger to humanity... but never, never, he has seen an end to misery, to suffering.

It had turned the young fool he had been into a cynic with a sarcastic smile.

What he had experienced since his arrival on Nirn had hardly helped him to change his view of the world. There was no need to explain to him that the Masters and Servants of the Grail War had not brought peace to this world... and the current war was their fault, or rather **HIS **fault... since he was also called "Shiro Emiya". Archer felt furious at his other self and his awkward vow. Shaking his head, the hero Emiya inspired and then expired. He had to keep his mind clear. He had come to speak to someone very stubborn... probably a family defect. A furtive smile appeared on Archer's lips. These two girls drove him crazy... yet...

Pressing the step, Archer crossed the heavy bronze door guarded by two Knights of the Rose leaning on their swords. In the following rooms, the spectacle offered to him was as pitiful as the makeshift hospital. The bombings and fires had driven many people out of their homes. Initially, some rooms of the palace had been allocated to them. But the guards, overwhelmed, had let them spread in the corridors. Whole families were waiting there. Sitting on the floor, they hardly spoke, no longer cried, without a complaint they spent days looking at the wall in front of them. The carefree children who played in the streets no longer existed. Eight months of war had been enough to make them too young adults.

* * *

Arriving at the top of a staircase, Archer went to knock on a door framed by two Refuge Guards. A clear soprano replied, the voice of a very young woman... of a teenager:

"Enter"

Sakura Tohsaka was writing, sitting behind her desk. The girl had long hair- adorned with a red ribbon above the ear- and like her eyes, they have the color of the petals of the Japanese cherry tree (4). Dressed in a simple pink dress, she was lovely... especially if you liked young women with a nice round chest.  
She had a shy smile at his entrance:

"Oh, Archer-san."

An oil lamp illuminated the scene with a yellowish clarity. Natural light no longer entered through the two tall windows pierced into the right wall. Boards had been hastily nailed up to close them after a shot had shattered the windows. A few pieces of glass on the ground reminded us of the accident.  
Advancing with stiffness, Archer wondered how to approach the problem. The best was to keep it simple.  
"Sakura-chan, I promised your sister to protect you until she returns. Except that Refuge will fall at the next assault and that it is imminent. I think it's time to go...

Nervous, Sakura got up after grabbing some papers on her table and bowed to greet him as she passed Archer. Clearly, she didn't want to hear that lies ahead and... she was running from reality. The reincarnated Servant sighed and took her by the arm as she passed before him.

"Sakura, I don't think you want to hear this. But it's over... one hero can't change anything anymore. The city will fall on the next assault. You have to leave if you don't want to die with them."  
But Sakura shook her head, her eyes closed, as if she refused to see the truth:

"No, I don't understand anything you're saying, Archer-san... let me go."

A throaty chuckle was heard:

"But Archer is not wrong..."

Sakura and Archer froze upon hearing this feminine, hot, sensual voice... They turned towards the door. A figure wrapped in a long patched coat stood in the frame of the door. Behind her... on the ground... the two guards were bathed in their blood.

What happened then was so fast that no human could have followed the movements of the two ex-Servants.  
A long chain emerges and Archer blocked the attack with Kanshou and Bakuya, appeared in his hands. Spinning, the two Chinese swords cut out the mantle that fell to the ground... empty.  
Passing Sakura behind him, the hero Emiya recovered the two swords that were returning to him like boomerang before raising his eyes to the top of the wall.

Like a giant spider, a woman hung on the moldings, upside down. She was dressed in a short black dress highlighting a sculptural body. Her long hair of a more red-violet than those of Sakura fell almost to the ground, so thick that she could almost only wear them as a garment. Yet the most amazing was her face. The beautiful woman's eyes disappeared behind a mask, and a red glyph glowed on her forehead.

Sakura almost cried out recognizing her:

"Rider!"  
Archer was tense... Obviously, the Rider of the Fifth Grail War wasn't coming as a friend. Medusa dropped to the ground, landing on her hands laid flat before placing her feet sleeved on long thigh boots on the ground and straightening up with strange jerky gestures worthy of a puppet.

Half hidden behind Archer, Sakura looked at her... friend and worried:

"Rider-san, why are you here? What... what do you want from me?"

There was a moment of silence, and Rider's attitude seemed briefly hesitant. She replied in a surprisingly soft voice:

"I'm sorry, Sakura. I... I'm not free of my actions. He asked me to bring you back and I can't disobey **HIM**. Archer, if you run away without trying to stop me, I won't hurt you."

The hero Emiya refused to lower his blades.

"What about Sakura?"

"She and I are alike. We went through the same trials. When I see her, I see myself at her age... she's like a little sister. I would never intentionally hurt her."

"But what about **HIM **hurting Sakura?"

Medusa's awkward silence did not require any comment. Archer's famous sarcastic smile played on his lips:

"I see... Sakura is very lucky not to have Rider for a friend... or should I say Medusa? In your company, she is so safe."

The mockery irritated the reincarnated Servant who made her chains swirl.

The fight began...

* * *

**Author's note: Next time, the first fight between Servants... you all expected it, right?**

* * *

(1) Couillard: a kind of light trebuchet with a counterweight made of a sandbag that gives it its name. (Couille = bourse... I can't help it if in modern French this word only serves in anatomy).

(2) On Earth, these helmets are typical of medieval Europe. Conical and lined with fur they are adorned with a tip at the top, the Gorodet also has a nasal protector. They are worn on a camail of chainmail that protects the cheeks, neck.

(3) Eldest son of King Eadwyre of Menevia, killed at the battle of Bjoulsae.

(4) Called in Japanese... Sakura


	34. Chapter 33 The Sword of Promised Victory

**The Sword of Promised Victory**

* * *

16 Sun's Dawn 3E 419, Wayrest, Kingdom of Menevia

The ballroom occupied the two floors of the castle of Wayrest. A monumental staircase served the king for his arrival, communicating with his private apartments.

The day had been better. A projectile hit the exterior wall breaking most of the windows. Various pieces of debris, pieces of plaster, and pieces of glass screeched under Archer's footsteps. The paintings and statues had fallen, rubble torn from the wall had broken the gilding of the opposite wall, and one of the crystal chandeliers was lying on the floor.

As Sakura watched the former hero advance from the top of the stairs, the latter did not turn his head and remained with his arms hanging with empty hands.  
He was attentively listening...

A sound of chains sounded at once. The room was vast and fed many echoes. It was impossible to locate Rider unless you force her out of the shadows.

Archer had this little superior smile that everyone hated:

"For a woman who insists that she is a 'monster', I find it rather strange that you have so easily accepted that we distance ourselves from the wounded and the refugees for whom Sakura is responsible. I imagine a real monster would have exercised some horrible blackmail over these innocent lives."

The answer comes with a sudden attack.

By reflex, Archer jumped high, making Kanshou and Bakuya appear as a metal sting struck the ground where he had stood, breaking a stone slab. In a chain click, the weapon returns to the hand of its owner.  
The former hero of the bow turned to the top of one of the walls. Rider was hanging on the wall, head down. Despite her beauty, this position made Medusa look like a demonic spider. Her face inexpressive and her eyes invisible, Medusa shows a piece of her pink tongue to lick the blade of her dagger. She had a mocking little laugh:

"Think what you want of me, Archer. But don't think I'd spare you."

The hero Emiya looked up to the sky:

"In this life, as in the previous one, my luck has not improved. All the pretty women I meet want me dead; I'm going to end up thinking I have a personality defect."

Rider dropped to the ground, squatted, and jumped on Archer... before he wiped himself out. Emiya made a roll, stooping in-extremis as his enemy's deadly chain passed over his head... launched by Rider who was now standing in his back.

Alaya's old dog turned around, throwing his two Chinese swords in a gesture. The Bridal Blades swirled in the air. The woman with the long purple hair deflected Bakuya using a piece of chain stretched between her hands like a shield and skipped Kanshou by a side leap.

The former Archer Servant, drew only an ironic smile to his opponent. He had summoned new copies of his favorite weapons... and the first swords were already returning to Rider.  
Many of Archer's enemies had fallen victim to his ability to simultaneously generate several replicas of Kanshou and Bakuya. The blades balanced like boomerangs returned in the hand of the one who had thrown them, magnetized one by the other they could perform complex figures that the old Counter-Guardian had passed centuries to master.

Except that a strategy based on an attack in his opponent's blind spot was useless against Rider. Medusa wore a magic mask that blocked the curse of her gaze... and deprived her of her sight. Her perception of the world was based on her other senses and magic. She discerned the world 360° with incredible detail.

Without waiting for the first pair of swords to come back upon her, the woman rushed forward, so fast that Archer did not have time to get on the defensive. Once again, she erased herself, arriving in front of him... letting herself fall to the ground to sweep the legs of her opponent with a false move.  
Emiya did not fight to stay standing... which would have exposed him to the attack of the dagger that was already whistling down his throat. He accompanied the impact, falling to the ground, rolling at a distance, he found himself on his heels. Jumping hight, he swapped out the Twin Blades for his black bow. A rain of arrows made of luminous _prana_ fell on Medusa.

Nevertheless, the woman with the mask dodged all the attacks by quick side-hops, before rushing forward.  
She came to the archer in red as he touched the ground. Two kicks hit him in the chest and under the chin, throwing him against a wall.

With his hands on her mouth, Sakura shouted in terror:

"Archer-san!"  
Her eyes went from her protector to her friend, without really knowing who she wanted to win. One thing was certain, however, that each blow hurt her as much as the participants. Once again, she was an issue in a fight. The latter announced itself difficult for the two heroes reincarnated.

* * *

At the same time, the first trebuchet shot startled General Valendil.

_No, not yet! Not so soon!_

The section of the wall defended by his soldiers was in a miserable state. All night, the imperial legionaries had done their best to repair the holes that opened their beatings in the stone. But it was an impossible feat to succeed in such a short time.

Quickly at the top of the steps leading to the top of the tower, the imperial general grabbed the telescope held out to him by the legate Leontius and squatted behind the partly dislocated hoardings.  
Three waves of soldiers were clearly visible. The first was Gobelins, sacrificed to «soften» the defenses. Behind them came great Orcs. These elite troops took with them mangonels, rams, mobile shields, and siege towers. The thin rays crossing the ash sky played on their armor of orichalcum. Yet it was the third wave that was the greatest danger. The Orcs and goblins were so numerous that their army looked like an ocean of armors. Trebuchets had now come into play on all sides smashing the stone of the walls, leaving new impacts on the towers, breaking up the mortar. The stones thrown by the Couillards posted at the top of the artillery towers turned the loose ground already plagued by multitudes of craters to give birth to ephemeral mud mushrooms.

The tide of Gobelins rising to the assault opened with bloody wounds. When they reached the remains of the ditch, the humanoids entered a land littered with their dead. It was a sign that they had reached the range of archers and crossbowmen stationed on the third wall line. The arrows, the tiles literally began to rain. Shields raised above their heads, the children of Malauch continued to advance. The long siege ladders leaned against the walls and were instantly covered with warriors climbing to the top of the ramparts, eager for carnage.

The machicolations spit stones, boiling oil, and sand bringing to incandescence, but the victims were immediately replaced. Some ladders were pushed back and released with clusters of goblins howling as they fell.

Everyone knew that this attack would be futile, Valendil thought. As for the second, it would only scratch the defenses. That everybody knew it. Yet, unless a miracle, tonight the defenders would end up buried under the ruins of Wayrest.

The echo of an explosion resounds between the ramparts and the walls of the houses, similar to the roar of a fauve. The east gate had just been pulverized by a salvo of fireballs launched by Orcs shamans. Planks and pieces of masonry bombarded the paving stones, causing the defenders to retreat.  
While the battle raged all around the city. The duel of the heroes continued inside the royal castle.

* * *

For an ordinary human, the confrontation would have been practically invisible. The two reincarnated Servants resorted to all their speed and agility. They would climb the walls, bounce against the roof, clash between heaven and earth.

Sakura saw fuzzy movements followed by sparks when Archer's swords met Rider's chain.  
Once again, the hero Emiya created double copies of Kanshou and Bakuya. Throwing the first set to Rider as a feint, he ran to her folded in half. Of course, Medusa stopped the swirling blades and jumped sideways to dodge them as the Chinese sabers came back to her... as Archer had planned.

And of course, the masked woman turned to the Alaya's old dog as he prepared to attack her. Using a segment of her chain, she blocked Kanshou... which was still a fake assault.  
Emiya quickly took two steps aside, passing in the back of his enemy to push Bakuya into her hip.

Medusa's reflexes and suppleness prevented a serious injury. Nevertheless, the blood flowed and the young woman leaped back, her face deformed by the pain.

"Enemy or not, you're brilliant, Archer."

Rider's sincere and admiring tone drew a short smile to Emiya:

"I return the compliment, to be praised by an adversary as dangerous as you is flattering."

Throwing his two blades at his enemy to create a new diversion, Archer jumped back:

"_I am the bone of my sword_"

The first stanza of his incantation served to strengthen his _Projections_, making them more resistant while accelerating the process of creation and reducing the cost in _prana_ for each weapon. His bow appeared in his hands. At an unthinkable speed, he fired a new barrage of arrows. Emiya knew, however, that it would be vain and that his opponent would avoid all his attacks.

The confrontation was very difficult for the Faker. Medusa was faster and more agile than him. To invoke weapons more powerful than his bow or the Bridal Blades took time... a brief moment according to the standards of ordinary humans... but far too much in a fight against a hero of this kind. He had no choice but to continue to counter the superior force, agility, and rapidity of the Gorgon with his tactics and cunning. Perhaps by continuing to inflict small wounds to Medusa he would weaken her enough to defeat her or he would gain enough time to recite the first three verses of his incantation and... materialize more powerful weapons.

Or else he would consume all his _prana_...

Unless Medusa manages to strike a fatal blow.

Rider had dodged his arrows and jumped on Archer, her legs wrapped around his head, her hands resting on the ground, she arched herself to project her enemy at a distance. Before he even touched the ground, her chain had materialized, surrounding the hero dressed in red. She made him spin at great speed, before releasing him... he violently hit a wall.  
Falling to the ground with debris from the wall, Emiya coughed up blood. He was sore everywhere. Fortunately, his bones and muscles were _Reinforced_ and as hard as steel. He breathed:

"... White..."

Medusa stopped with an expression of surprise on her face:

"What?"  
Spitting a little more blood, Archer rose up:

"Your panties are white."

A sudden redness appeared on the cheeks of the gorgon:

"We're in the middle of a fight, you could think of something else!"

Emiya shrugged his shoulders:

"I couldn't fail to see your panties as you wore such a short skirt and wrapped your legs around my neck... I literally had my nose on it."

He ended his statement with a wink.

Medusa was now completely red... and Archer saw almost steam coming out of her nose and ears.  
"Archeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!"  
"Finally, I confess to being surprised, such a pure color should be worn by an innocent schoolgirl, not by a 'bloodthirsty monster'. Truly, the role of a monster is not for you, Medusa."

She rushed towards him to silence him, fist raised, wrapped in a red blood aura and Emiya had one of his little ironic smiles that made him so detestable.

—or he could piss Rider off so much that she lost her composure and made mistakes that he could exploit. He threw himself aside and Medusa hit the wall... The stones exploded under the impact, opening a breach of three meters in diameter in the thick wall of the castle.

Archer swallowed up...

—if he survived the fury of a raging Gorgon!

* * *

King Eadwyre arrived on a large white steed, surrounded by the Knights of the Order of the Rose. The ruler of Menevia wore no helmet, but a richly engraved armor of plates covered him from throat to toe. All recognized him by his wrinkled features of a handsome old man, his silver beard and hair. His forehead wore a simple crown. Without fear, Eadwyre joined the defeated soldiers who were moving away from the broken door. The old man stood very upright. With one hand he wielded a sword, and with the other he pressed an armored shield representing the three roses of Menevia.  
He did not utter a word, but his presence alone had miraculous effects; men gathered around him.

Those who seemed ready to flee or surrender now cheered their king.

Then, around the Knights of the Rose, disparate elements of other regiments gathered: militiamen, crossbowmen, garrison units… everything that was still standing.

A broken door still hung on one of its half-torn hinges. The other lay on the ground, its lower half reduced to a heap of broken wood. Trampling them, a troop crossed the obstacle.

The Orcs!

The green-skinned tall humanoids wielded lightning-shaped scimitar, serrated axes, maces, and large triangular shields. Their armors were made of green metal as their conical helmets adorned with colored ponytails.

King Eadwyre straightened himself on his steed. From the point of his sword he pointed to the enemy:  
"Charge!"

Setting an example, the noble old man rushed forward. In the space of a moment, the air was filled with the roar of arms, the howling of pain and anger. Eadwyre found himself facing a first opponent. The Orc was on foot but benefited but had the protection of their strong armor. Unleashing a vicious smile, the green humanoid struck with all his might. Pulling the reins of his horse to make him describe a side step, shield raised, the king of Menevia deviated the attack. In the same movement, he engaged the point of his sword under the arm of his enemy.

Touched by the defect of his armor, the Orc collapsed, the heart pierced.

His first opponent had underestimated King Eadwyre. The two warriors coming to him did not intend to repeat this error. From a maneuver, they departed a few steps before converging on him.

Without a word, the Orcs struck at the same time. The royal shield stopped a scimitar, but the other slipped on the sovereign's plate armor. Holding back a cry of pain, Eadwyre of Menevia responded. The king's enchanted sword bumped an Orc shield, repelling the aggressor. Nevertheless, caught against his feet, he took another scratch given by his second opponent. The first Orc was already coming back to the charge; his scimitar sank deep into the wood of the royal shield cutting the upper part of Eadwyre's protection.

Eadwyre threw his horse forward. The steed stood on his hind legs striking an Orc with his hooves. Taking advantage of the astonishment of the second Orc, the king struck. The blade cut deep into the armor of orichalcum, leaving a mark from which the blood flowed. Nevertheless, before the king could finish his opponent, a crowd movement occurred.

Allies and mixed enemies snatched him from his fight, Eadwyre swore and raised his sword to deal blows around him. But the battle was confused. Attacks and counter-attacks followed one another quickly. The combatants at the heart of the melee were carried away on one side, then on the other.  
Pushed aside, King Eadwyre of Menevia struck the near wall. All around him, it was a fierce body mixing shocks, screams, and pain. After exchanging some ill-fated blows with Orcs as compressed as he was, a new movement pushed him back into an area where the fighters had more freedom of movement.

An Orc had just finished off one of the soldiers of the garrison. Saluting with his bloody blade, the humanoid immediately launched into a brilliant display of fencing. A stroke from the flat of the blade caused the king to stagger. His mount retreated awkwardly, stumbling on corpses. Without slackening the pressure, the boar-faced colossus continued to attack and slowly repel its enemy. Eadwyre's retaliations broke on a steel wall. Insensibly, the old king felt his blows slow down and weaken... he was after all not very young. A primitive terror palpated in his belly, an icy chill that spread along his spine, swiftly swept away by black anger. Eadwyre of Menevia refused to die like this!  
With a quick pivot of the bust, the king dodged a new assault. His speed had just increased tenfold. Suddenly, it was he who repelled his opponent. In a sparkling whirlwind, the Breton faked and finally crossed the opposing defense. In vain, the armor of Orichalcum was strong. The Orc did not appear to be injured but wore a new fencing botte.

The monarch of Menevia felt fweak again. The sweat made him blink, and his sore muscles were tensed by the effort. Time stretched endlessly, adrenaline turning seconds into minutes. An unarticulated scream of horror brought him back to the present.

One moment, his gaze drifted to capture the terror of a dying man. Moreover, all around, there was almost nothing else than death and dying. Unfortunately, among the living, the Orcs were more numerous...  
Eadwyre had stopped paying attention to the fight. A second opponent had approached. Armed with a dagger he just stabbed the king's flank.

The ruler of Menevia responded by reflex, blowing up the head of the laughing enemy. A hand pressed on the hip, the features livid; he tried to contain the blood that flowed.

Around him, the survivors of his army reacted to his wound. The knights charged and surrounded him. While one of his bodyguards took the reins of his horse, the others rushed into the crowd of the Orcs:  
"Sire Alabore, bring the king to safety, we hold the enemy."

* * *

Gasping, Archer landed on his feet and staggered. His lip was split, his forehead skinned, his red mantle reduced to the state of rags. Because of the pain in his chest, he must have had several broken ribs. Nevertheless, he had just wounded Medusa again.

The beautiful woman with a sculptural body who thought she was a monster also wore her share of wounds... but not to be deceived, they were less serious than those of Emiya. If things continued in this way her victory was predictable.

Nevertheless, the ex- Archer class Servant had survived long enough to fulfill one of his goals. He reached out, concentrating:

"_I have created over a thousand blades."_

This was the third verse of his incantation. Between his fingers, a black blade materialized. Its guard was of gold like its pommel finished by four claws enclosing a milky gem. Durandal, known as the _Peerless Sword_, was incredibly sharp and did not require _prana_ to be used... a great advantage given his state of exhaustion.

Upon seeing his enemy materialize an unknown weapon, Medusa withdrew by a leap. Her opponent had once again changed tactics and the Gorgon had learned that it never announced anything good for her.

In every respect, Archer was a very average hero. However, he was also a warrior as she had rarely seen: intelligent, cunning, able to use her agility, her strength... or her modesty against herself.  
Her hesitation at his change of method was precisely the kind of fault that Emiya could not fail to exploit. The Red Coat Heroe threw himself forward. Of course, Rider blocked the attack... except that her chain broke, cut by Durandal. The blade slit her tunic, tracing a deep cut from her belly to her hip. The torn tissue immediately soaked in blood.

Once again, the Gorgon's reflexes had saved her life. If she had not jumped back, Durandal would have cut her in half!

She took off her mask:

"**Gorgon Breaker**!"

Medusa hated to resort to the Mystical Eyes of Cybele. Nevertheless, her petrifying gaze could save her life. And effectively, her gaze gave her some edge against Emiya, the hero leaps aside, his eyes looking at the floor. But the effect of surprise did not play in favor of Medusa. Alaya's old dog knew from the beginning who she was, having "read" her identity when writing her dagger within his **Unlimited Bladework**. Unfortunately, unlike his enemy, he could not see without looking.  
Rider jumped high, falling down on her enemy but Archer rolling aback, dodging the assault. He even succeeds in cutting the gorgon on the arm.

It was necessary to finish quickly, understood the beautiful woman with purple hair. The battle on the outside had been going on for over an hour... and their confrontation too. She had no time to waste. Rider straightened up and... her dagger in hand, she pierced her throat through and through! A stream of blood flowed from the horrible wound, but instead of falling to the ground, the red liquid formed a disc in front of Medusa. It sparkled for a moment before turning into a magic circle covered with unknown and disturbing slithering letters.

A moment later the room was illuminated with clarity more blinding than the sun.  
Archer instantly identified the danger and resorted to one of his most powerful Noble Phantasm:  
"**Rho Aias!**"

Short of energy, pressed by time, he can only materialize the four-petalled version of the legendary shield of Aias the Great.

Transformed into dazzling light, Rider threw herself on the translucent shield.

* * *

All the windows of the two floors including the ballroom shattered, spreading an unsustainable light.

* * *

Valendil ran along the ramparts.

A few dozen meters away, a new mobile tower was preparing to disgorge reinforcements on the walkway A sudden hiss made his heart leap. By reflex he threw himself to the ground and took awkward shelter behind the battlements, his shield raised above him.

A block of stone smashed the hoarding just behind him. A second projectile followed, shaking the stone of the crenellations. On the third impact, there was a sound of landslide and cries of horror. Crawling on the elbows, the imperial general managed to get far enough to avoid ending up like his followers.  
Once again, the Aldmer could not help but look back. A wide section of the wall was deprived of battlements. The walkway around had collapsed. The armor of several legionaries shone in the midst of the rubbles. His squire was among them.

An Imperial bowman came to his aid:

"Are you all right, general?"

"It's not the most important thing right now." With his sword, Valendil pointed to the rolling belfry. "Prepare to repel the enemy!"

Next to a gaping breach in the walls, the assault tower had just dropped its drawbridge. A horde of Goblins came out, throwing themselves at the throat of the imperial legionaries. The archers placed behind the embrasures of the siege machine responded to the shots of their rivals placed on the ramparts. The air was full of deadly arrows. Nevertheless, this wild dance had become too familiar to Valendil Ceberhas to inspire him anything but sadness and disgust. He reserved fear for a newcomer.  
He was three meters tall and had a round and stupid face, with thin lips opening on rotten fangs, loose ears, not a hair. The ogre had the skin of a dirty white covered with dirt and dust, dotted with scars. For his only garment, the colossus wore a dusty fur loincloth invaded by vermin.

Howling a challenge in a barbaric language, the humanoid monster threw a club in front of him. The crude weapon was formed by a young trunk of an uncut tree. At its extremity, a wide, badly cut stone was restrained by leather ties. The primitive club mowed down an entire row of legionaries. The shields and the skulls were smashed; the armor plates and the ribs were bashed.

Before deciding whether to flee or fight, Valendil found himself facing the monster.

The ogre brought his club over his shoulder. The tree trunk fractured a section of the battlements, without touching the Aldmer general. With a leap, the High Elf had just passed under the arm of the Ogre, coming out of his field of vision. Very stupid, the creature remained with his arms swaying. It all happened too fast for his birdbrain.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the prince began to smile. Good tactician, he knew how to use the weaknesses of the enemy. Raised, he rushed towards the Goblins who were following the fight. Surprised, they marked a time stop. Enough time for him to open a chest and burst a face.

Behind him, the legionaries shouted a victory cry and attacked the Ogre, who turned their backs on them. Spears and arrows stuck deep into his skin, but it took much more to hurt the terrifying creature. Changing his mind once more, the bipedal monster turned to the Imperials.  
Caught in the trap, between the mass of the Gobelins that was charging and the Ogre, Valendil realized a little late his recklessness. A slicer hit him in the face. His helmet deflected part of the shock, but not enough. The nose broken, the Elf staggered. His armor deflected another blade seeking his heart. The sword lifted, the general of the Emperor retreated awkwardly. His enemies had seen his weakness and were now crushing him with many blows.

He found himself on the ground without understanding how he had arrived. On either side of his head, two legs had stepped over him. Surprised the general recognized the standard boots of the imperial legion, the ankle guards in steel, and even the skirt of studded leather slats that protected the thighs of imperial officers. In counter-dive, Valendil finally discovered the face of his rescuer.

In an aggressive pose, Leontius beckoned the Goblin to move forward.

The weapon swirled, throwing lightning. The tip plunged into a chest; the heel hit an opponent at the throat. Handled like a fighting stick, the spear threw a Goblin over the battlements and broke the ribs of a second. Within seconds, the void had been made all around the imperial legate.  
Meanwhile, the other Imperials had succeeded in killing the Ogre. Not shining by their courage, the Goblins retreated.

Taking advantage of the interlude, two legionaries set their leader upright to lead him to a staircase. Valendil let himself be done, far too close to fainting to protest.

* * *

In the ballroom completely devastated, smoldering, Archer got up painfully. He was still alive thanks to Durandal. The legendary blade contained three miracles; one of them had saved him when Rho Aias broke into a thousand pieces.

At the other end of the room, Medusa put on her mask and grinned with frustration:

"How tenacious you can be! What do I have to do to get rid of you?"

Despite his wounds, Emiya managed to offer her a sarcastic smile:

"Get out of here? You won't see me anymore and I'll be rid of you. It's a win-win proposition, right?"

"No! I have to bring Sakura back."

The gorgon seemed to hesitate and then lowered her head; the flow of her purple hair masked her face, preventing her from showing her expression.

"I have no choice... you want proof that I am a bloody monster? Here it is: **Blood Fort Andromeda**!"  
A red blood pentacle materialized under her feet, almost identical to the magic circle she had previously used. Around the king's castle, smaller seals appeared. They emitted energy that formed a red dome, fed by streams of blood-like energy that converged at a central point, a sort of ball... no, an eyelid. This one opened, revealing a gigantic red eye!

Throughout the castle, people fell to the ground, hardly breathing while the curse of Blood Fort Andromeda absorbed their vital force, transmitting it to Medusa.

Sakura had watched the entire confrontation without moving from the top of the stairs or intervening. But this horrible _Magecraft_ changed everything:

"Rider! Stop it now; there are women and children wounded and sick in the castle!"

All the inhabitants of Tamriel had an innate gift for magic, even if some peoples (like the Nords) refused to practice it. The Bretons also had a strong resistance to bewitchment. They were much less disarmed in the face of this curse than were Japanese high school students of the 21st century. However, to resist it was necessary to be in full possession of himself... which was not the case for the wounded. Weakened, they could not survive this curse very long.  
"Rider!" implored Sakura.

But her friend did not move, she was standing as ashamed, face down, fleeing the look of the one she had called "little sister" the same morning.

Like all those present, Sakura was affected by the curse... Emiya also. The hero wanted to attack Medusa, force her to stop, but he felt like he was walking in a thick liquid. Overwhelmed, he struggled to just stand... while Rider's wounds were closing; healed by the vital energy she stole from innocent people.

With tears in her eyes, Sakura Tohsaka grasped Rider's hand:

"I'm going with you. Spare the inhabitants of the castle!"

Medusa agrees to this.

"Leave Archer alone too, I want you to promise me!"

The deep voice of the gorgon replied:

"Yes, Sakura, I promise to disperse **Blood Fort Andromeda** and leave the inhabitants of the castle in peace - including Archer- if you follow me without resistance."

"Then I'm with you."

Sakura sacrificed herself once again, she was used to it. The red energy field collapsed in an instant. When Rider raised her head, no emotion was visible on her face. She uttered only one word:  
"**Bellerophon**!"  
the silver light that had just appeared condensed in the form of a magnificent Pegasus. Jumping on hits back, Medusa helped Sakura to climb and then the mount with her two riders broke through a wall to get out.  
By the time Archer reached the breach, Bellerophon was nothing more than a silver comet moving away at high speed towards the northeast.

Emiya sat on a pile of rubble. He was so tired that he abandoned himself to the darkness that threatened to engulf him. Before losing consciousness, the reincarnated hero congratulated himself on being still alive. It was not over! He would find Sakura... He had known the girl for a very long time and, although she did not know it, he regarded her as a sort of little sister. It was now a personal matter.

* * *

Noon was approaching.

The battle of Wayrest had reached its critical point. The East Doors had fallen and we were now fighting in the streets. On the ramparts, the defenders retreated where they locked themselves in the towers to resist the masses of enemies who continued to rise to the assault of the walls.

Everything seemed to be lost.

At that moment, the masses of clouds and smoke that were stagnant in the city were lifted by a wind coming from the Iliac's Bay. For the first time in days, the sun illuminated the battlefield.

One of the goblin guards stationed on one of the towers overlooking the outer trenches protecting the Orc camps saw a metallic reflection of the sunlight. Intrigued, he scrutinized the hills discovering... soldiers assembling. Thousands of soldiers, tens of thousands of soldiers even, knights in armor, trebuchets, and mangonels, magus in robes... Above this powerful army which finished preparing its attack, banners: the kingdom of Daenia, and that of Cambria, the duchy of Phrygios, the duchy of Verandia, the duchy of Boralis, the kingdom of Alcaire... All the kingdoms of the West had gathered together into an immense army!

The rescue expedition had finally arrived in front of Wayrest.

* * *

Artoria Pendragon stood on the hill with her eyes closed, not paying attention to the wind playing with her hair or the blue dress she wore under her armor. Her legs spread wide, she held Excalibur with two hands. The sacred sword was clearly visible, stripped of its windy sheath. The blade radiated a golden light as King Arthur lifted it above his head:

"_Yes. Let's put an end to this_."

For a moment, a bluish aura surrounded the little blonde woman, and then she harmonized with the golden radiance of the sword. The blade and its bearer united in a torch of golden light that in a few moments reached about ten meters high. As bright as the sun, this warm, living light did not dazzle.

"_The gathering breath of the star. The shining torrent of life. Take this!"_

And the World answered the prayer of King Arthur. The flowers of the fields, the blades of grass, and the trees were illuminated with a weak golden aura. Each glow in turn gave birth to a tiny spark-like fairy.  
Thousands, millions of his flames assembled in torrents that swirled around the marveled Breton soldiers and then gathered in larger rivers that all converged on Excalibur.

Artoria clenched her teeth as the golden flame now reached more than thirty meters high. Never before had the sacred blade gathered so much energy... Except that Nirn was not the Earth and that magic was much more present in this world.

"**Ex**...  
King Arthur lowered Excalibur in a powerful blow as if to cut off an enemy in front of her.

... **calibur**!"

When the blade was horizontal, the energy gathered in the golden torch was released. As a dam collapsed under the flood of a raw river, the furious power of the World rushed against the camp of the orcs.

Artoria had well spotted the flag of the warlord Agraggush, the leader of the besieging army. The wooden ramparts and defense towers on the route of the attack were reduced to nothing. The beam struck the center of the camp, the regiments in battle order, the shamans... and Lord Agraggush on his throne was engulfed by light.

A sphere of golden power materialized devouring the flesh, the armor, blowing the palisades before catching up the regiments that were advancing towards the ramparts. In an instant thousands of soldiers were consumed, the stone-throwers ignited, the siege towers were thrown to the ground.

Then his thirst for destruction appeased, the light of Excalibur rushed in a dazzling column to the stars that had generated it. Then there was a gigantic explosion, high in the sky. The clouds driven by the breath gave way to a spring sky, blue and pure. Everywhere, the little fairies fell to the ground in a shower of golden sparks.

* * *

Several minutes passed in impressive silence.

The Bretons had witnessed the whole scene, their eyes dazzled, and their mouth open. They were now reaching out to the little fairies... amazed by the spectacle and still drunk with the destructive beauty of Excalibur.

The Orcs stopped their attack; thousands of fighters had disappeared as their leader. The unleashing of Excalibur blast looked like the wrath of a god... in a sense they were right. It was too much for them, the survivors remained there watching the immense crater where a few fairies lingered. They just couldn't think.

And then...

"Attack!"  
"Charge!"  
"For Camlorn!"

"Knight of the Kingdom of the Islands, charge!"

The relief army set in motion. They entered the wide breach opened by Excalibur, a few handfuls of survivors fled when they approached or were massacred. The regiments separated. Some of them took back the troops that were going up to the assault of the ramparts. Caught between two fires, still under the shock of the huge explosion that had just killed their supreme leader, Orcs and Goblins offered only weak resistance.

The bulk of the Orc army was still around the East Door, busy forcing the passage outside Wayrest.

Panicked, terrified, Goblins deserted, fleeing to the north. Two-thirds of the Orc tribes followed the movement. But the Orcs were the Orcs... the most fanatical tribes did not want to withdraw and those trapped in the capital of Menevia could not.

The fighting continued for hours. Acts of heroism or what the most sensible call "useless deaths" continued until sunset. Nevertheless, the course of the battle had been reversed by the power of Excalibur.

At the approach of the night, only a few encircled Orcs were still fighting. The sun was setting on an unexpected victory. A good shot of the invasion army had been annihilated; its leader killed with all his staff, the rest was in disarray.

* * *

Artoria Pendragon entered the city on a white steed with an immaculate dress. The mighty warhorse wore a blue barding and a glittering steel headrest that matched his rider's dress-armor.

Around her were the other heroes of the country: Shiro Emiya, the Amber-Eyed Blacksmith, _Magus, _and archer who created weapons with a simple gesture; Rin Tohsaka, the Red Devil, mistress of the Jewels _Magecraft_; Merlin, the Wizard of the Flowers, with his countless powers.

The population gathered around them, throwing flowers, clapping. Women were crying and more than one man was quickly wiping a tear.

Eight months of horror and anguish had just ended. The war was not over, but for the first time, the people of Menevia were confident.

Heroes were protecting them.

* * *

**Author's note: With this chapter ends the second part of Fate Dragoncrown. I'm sorry for the number of chapters of battles that have gone on without a break. I understand that it seemed long... let's say that I had to go through it to advance the story.**

**A word about the fight between Archer and Rider: The former has more fans than the latter and his fight against Berserker in Fate/ Stay Night shows that he is strong. As for Rider, she is the first Servant to fall as well in this route as in Unlimited Bladework, which makes that many people underestimate her. But there, they fight without Master... and Rin (Archer Master) is the best Master of the Fifth Grail War, with a large **_**prana**_** reserve and she is also an excellent tactician. And Shinji was Rider Master... I shouldn't even have to insist that such a Master is worse than dead weight. In fact, in Fate/ Stay Night Medusa is the fourth Servant in terms of power. She is outclassed only by Artoria, Heracles, and of course... Gilgamesh.**


	35. Chapter 34 Reconstruction's blues

**MidnightAce: ****I don't really understand what you're talking about. If this is a way of challenging Rin's talk about "the creation of the eternal Noble Phantasm", all that I have explained in this dialogue is 100% canon. **

**We see Fanfic of Shiro traveling to other worlds. And often sees Shiro giving permanents Noble Phantasms that he **_**Projected **_**to friends. The idea of the authors is that without Gaia and Alaya, there is no more erosion force and the **_**Projected **_**Nobles Phantasms are "eternal". **

**Alaya and Gaia, of course, erode objects whose existence disturbs the order of the world. Nevertheless, the primary reason for the impermanence of the projected Noble Phantasms is different.**

**An object created in **_**Prana**_** is not stable... imagine that the replicas made by Shiro are made of ice. The more imperfect they are the faster they "melt". No matter how long Shiro manages to keep a stable object, it will eventually disappear. I did not invent the principles of entropy. I advise you to do some research yourself on this subject if you want to contest because no energy (including matter) remains frozen in a given state. The **_**Prana**_** created by Shiro obeys these same rules. An eternal object is within the realm of the First True Magic, that is, outside the rules of physics. And for this it is necessary to create using Ether, a material is not affected by the rules of physics.**

**To say that Shiro can _project_ an eternal object if he manages to have a pretty perfect representation of it is as silly as to say that a car can ride eternally if it filled the tank completely.**

* * *

**Reconstruction's blues**

* * *

Wayrest seemed to rise from the plains of southern Menevia, like a white rock cliff carved by human hands. Around the fortified city, the ruins of the orc camp stood, burned, ravaged by the power of Excalibur, the testimony of the last day of the siege of the mighty citadel.

The news of the victory had spread throughout Hight-Rock. With the reopening of the roads, families, messengers, and merchants had arrived from the whole kingdom. The news they brought rejoiced the righteous inhabitants freed from the ruins of their city.

Even though the Orc invasion had rolled down the Wrothgar Mountains like a river breaking a dam, ravaged everything in its fury, the invaders had advanced directly on Wayrest, neglecting to attack the other coastal towns. Certainly, bands of Orcs and Goblins had burned farms and villages, looting the granaries. Nevertheless, the bulk of the population had been able to flee and take refuge behind the walls of the other port cities of the region. The most prosperous part of the kingdom was therefore more or less intact, and the king's worst nightmare was therefore not to be realized. With the siege lifted, he still had a kingdom to rule.

As dawn had just risen, it was impossible to escape the sound of the hammer. Everywhere, the population worked in carpentry. Trolleys continued to cross the ramparts, laden with logs destined for sawmills. Wooden frameworks were already replacing some burnt houses, while elsewhere the rubble accumulated in the ruins was evacuated.

The effort, of course, focused on the walls.

The quarries in the area were again occupied, extracting blocks that were cut and sent to Wayrest. Hoisted by hoists, they were used to close wounds inflicted by siege weapons. While wooden scaffolding brought workers and mortar to the top of the walls.

No matter where one looked, the inhabitants had set to work with enthusiasm. Because it was a return to the normality they had been waiting for almost eight months.

* * *

The council room was a simple rectangular room, especially remarkable for the long table that ran almost from end to end. Crest hangings alternated with tapestries depicting harvests, grape harvest, or deer hunts, covering the stone walls with rich fabrics embroidered with gold. A door of varnished wood stood at one end, guarded by two halberds, and a high armchair - almost a throne- faced it.  
It was in that seat that King Eadwyre sat. Old and strong as an oak with leaves covered with snow, he wore a beard of silver threads. Clothed in a doublet decorated with a knotwork of virgin vines, bearing the heavy crown of his charge, he listened to one of his counselors:

"... it will take time to rebuild villages and farms, sow wheat. It is obvious that the quantities of food stored in large cities are insufficient. We're going to have to buy grain from Daenia and Camlorn."

Another of the counselors interrupted the speaker. The man, apparently an important merchant, seemed appalled by this proposition:

"But we don't have enough money to buy that much food all at once. Plus, we're going to cause a crisis. Give it some thought, if we start shouting things like 'starvation' or 'lack of food' we will literally encourage our competitors to defraud us!"

The Dark Elf Queen Barenziah, gorgeous in her long red satin dress, straightened her scarlet eyes over the merchant:

"Let it be clear, there is no way we are going to let famine finish the work of the Orcs. We must feed our people."

The merchant nervously blotted out the sweat that covered his face with a large checkered handkerchief:  
"I... didn't... mean it that way, Your Majesty. Just... just... it was better to make sure we knew first how much grain we really needed. Then, only then, send several merchants separately to discuss purchases in different cities. Buying in bulk would cause a shortage in the market and, almost mechanically, would result in an increase in prices. There are always people to take advantage of it, my Queen. I just wanted to warn you. The last thing we need is a bunch of smart guys stockpiling crops to see how high prices can go. As you pointed out, my Queen, we cannot let people die.

As the intervention of his wife had stifled all dissent, King Eadwyre turned to the only imperial officer present. He was not, strictly speaking, an adviser to the sovereign. Nevertheless, in recent months, he had, in fact, led the defense of Wayrest:

"All right, that's a given. Let's move on to the next question. General Ceberhas, tell us about the military situation."

The Aldmer straightened up with military stiffness:

"Your Majesty, two weeks after the end of the siege of Wayrest, the situation is still, to say the least, confused. The death of the warlord Agraggush and the loss of a third of their army caused a panic rarely seen in an Orc army. Unfortunately, we did not have - and still do not have - the strategic reserves to exploit this vulnerability in the form of a grand style counterattack. The reinforcement army is just cleaning up the south of Menevia. That's all they can do as well. You can't count on your recent allies to launch an assault on the Wrothgar Mountains."

Valendil had left a hint of irony to filter and several counselors grimaced. Many of the great lords of Hight-Rock who had sent their armies to help the King Eadwyre had moved only because they were themselves on the list the enemies of the Orcs... and preferred to fight in Menevia now rather than see their own lands ravaged later. The kingdoms of High-Rock were divided by centuries of intrigue and conflict. It was obvious that the current weakening of Menevia was very well regarded by several great rival kingdoms... starting to Daenia.

The High-Elf coughed in his fist to redirect the attention of the king and his advisors to him:

"Do not forget that the enemy army, in spite of its losses, remains more numerous than the coalition of the Bretons lords. Furthermore, the Orcs and Goblins are under the sole command of King Gothwog."  
Eadwyre furrowed his bushy brows:

"What do you propose, General?"

"In the short term, there is nothing we can do, Your Majesty. Nevertheless..."

Valendil Ceberhas smiled, leaving his sentence in suspense:

"You see, the defeat of the Orcs at the siege of Wayrest has turned the tide of the war. Your armies have nothing to do, just admiring the show. As I explained to you when I arrived, I only came to help defend Wayrest. The plan adopted by his Imperial Majesty, Uriel Septim VIII was to send three legions to attack the Duchy of Morkulduin from Skyrim. As soon as the Druadach mountain passes are snow-free, the invincible Imperial Legions will be able to win the war."

Normally, the Empire of Tamriel was hardly popular at the court of King Eadwyre, but the help provided by General Ceberhas had accomplished miracles that even centuries of diplomacy did not equal. Several councilors also applauded this short speech.

"We are finally going to be able to crush these swine offspring!" cried one of the most enthusiastic.

Ceberhas cast a stern look at him:

"His Majesty Emperor Uriel cares about the lives of the people of the Empire. The legion will restore order in High-Rock, put an end to the looting of cities and the massacre of the citizens of the Empire... of all its citizens!"

The last words froze the enthusiasm of the councilors... the Orcs were also citizens of the Empire. The following statement of the general was even more striking:

"Agents of the Empire have reported in recent years an increase in abuses against Orcs. The Council of Elders (1) received several messengers from King Gothwog imploring the help of the Empire... at the time there was no inquiry. This has since been considered serious misconduct whose consequences we see. Pushing the Orcs has not been a very good idea. Before my departure, Emperor Uriel expressed the wish to organize diplomatic talks as soon as a terrestrial link was re-established between the Empire and the Illiac Bay. King Gothwog of the Orcs, the corsairs of Dragonstar, the Reachmen, and all of you, my dear friends, would be invited to speak. You will all have the opportunity to make known to the Emperor your grievances. It is high time to seek a peaceful solution to the endless wars that blood the region.

The general nodded to those in charge of the supply:

"You can take this opportunity to contact the Commission for the Construction of Lord Vaneth and the Commission for the Planning of Lord Atrius (2). These two administrations will be responsible for rebuilding roads and cities after the war."

"For a comfortable profit!"

Valendil Ceberhas smiled at the aggressive repartee of the counselor who had just spoken:

"These are imperial contracts partly financed by the taxes of the Empire. You will not pay much out of your pocket, my lord."

* * *

The city wall had suffered heavy damage. But, attacks after attacks, the war machines had always concentrated on the same sections of the ramparts. After all, it would have been absurd to waste time throwing stones at an intact wall. And the attacks on already damaged areas were more likely to succeed.  
This is why most of the ramparts remained standing and almost untouched.

Staring into space, Shiro Emiya stood at the top of the fortifications. His expression was sad and troubled. The Amber's Eyes Blacksmith reflected and his thoughts were morose. At the top of the tower stairs, a little woman looked at him.

Artoria Pendragon made up for her diminutive size with a charisma that left no one indifferent. Especially not the people of Wayrest, each of her public appearances moved crowds to cheer and admire her.

Her many exploits throughout High-Rock were already legendary... even though she was unknown a year earlier! Besides, she was so beautiful.

Dressed simply in the blue dress that she wore under her armor, and wearing brown leather boots, Artoria advanced to his lover and leaned on Shiro's neighboring niche.

The young Japanese looked at her and quickly sighed:

"Does that mean I've been here too long?"

Saber had a slight smile, looking at him from the corner of her eye:

"You know Rin. She started stomping on the floor with her hands on her hips and yelling something about ' bringing you back by the scruff of your neck if you don't decide to go down within three minutes'. I somewhat managed to convince her not to destroy this section of the ramparts and let me go."

Shiro rubbed the back of his head in a familiar gesture. His clumsy laughter betrayed embarrassment rather than true humor... Rin often had this effect on him.

Her friend smiled briefly at his reaction and returned to the contemplation of the workers repairing the hoardings:

"No one was more worried than you during our trip. Were we going to arrive in time to save Wayrest? It's done, the city is saved. So what's the problem? "

With one hand, Artoria showed the streets behind them as well as the houses that were being rebuilt. Even though they were isolated on this corner of the rampart, it was impossible for them to escape the sound of saws and hammers that went up to the covered way.

"You seem to be the only person here who isn't happy about our victory. So? What's happening to you?"  
Shiro returned to the contemplation of the ravaged countryside and raised a deep sigh:

"I think I'm starting to understand some things..."

Artoria's eyes narrowed. She continued to stare at his friend, but his disillusioned tone was something new to her. Shiro stared at the sky and the white clouds that passed over the infinite blue above him:

"My earliest memory is the fire at the end of the Fourth Grail War. I was walking through the burning ruins... around me, people were calling for help... and I kept walking, leaving them to their fate. Until I collapsed! It was on a heap of smoking debris that Kiritsugu found me. And as I was about to abandon myself to death, the one who was to become my adoptive father took me in these arms. I have never seen such an expression of joy in anyone... He was crying for only saving one person."  
Saber spoke:

"But now you know what it is. Kiritsugu felt guilty. Because he used his _Command Marks_ to force me to destroy the Grail, the contents of this corrupt chalice had spread into Fuyuki causing the fire that killed hundreds of inhabitants... including your parents. Saving you was a sign to him that he could atone for his sin. If he adopted you, it is because of his remorse. You know that now."

The Saber of the Fourth and Fifth Grail Wars of Fuyuki had insisted heavily and the little affection she had for Kiritsugu Emiya had not failed to show. Artoria remembered the man as an ordinary _Magus_, eliminating those who bothered him. Of course, he was not cruel or evil. He would have nothing to do with killing innocent people. He had shown it during his first attack against Archibald El-Melloi, ensuring the hotel where the enemy _Magus_ had settled had been evacuated before blowing it up. But Kiritsugu had always sacrificed everything to his goal. When he discovered that the Grail was corrupt, without explaining anything, Kiritsugu forced Artoria to destroy the Grail what she had sought all her life. Invoked again in the next conflict, she had discovered in Shiro another victim of her previous Master...

The back of the Amber Eyed Blacksmith stiffened. By reflex, he wanted to defend his adoptive father but... Saber was right. He turned to her:

"Yet I always thought that borrowing my father's ideals was the right thing to do. I did not even listen to him when he explained to me that a hero cannot save everyone. Kiritsugu took the example of a hostage situation, where to save the hostages the hero had to kill the villain."

Artoria laid her hand on his arm. As he stared at her, the woman knight offered him a reassuring smile:

"You were a child."

Shiro agrees:

"Yes, I was a child... and that excused me at the time. Nevertheless, I should have grown up, understood that it was an infantile ideal. Instead, I continued to 'borrow an ideal' as Archer mocked!"  
Saber became tense:

"Archer? Is it because of him that you're in this state?"

Shiro shook his head:

"No, it was the memory of an old conversation we had as he brought me home on Rin's orders... back to Fuyuki. At the time, he wished that I drowned in my borrowing ideal. Archer made me understand that my ideal was absurd and that it wasn't even mine, it was my adoptive father's. Rin made me understand that Kiritsugu never intended to teach me _Magecraft_ and put me in danger by letting me use my nerves as substitutes for _Magic Circuits_. And finally, after Gilgamesh killed Caster, you revealed to me that it was my father who caused the destruction of Fuyuki. And yet... yet... never until then have I questioned my dream of being a hero who saves the innocent."

Artoria Pendragon looked at his friend with concern:

"But, Shiro, borrowed or not is not a bad ideal. We must try to save everyone. Only..."

She hesitated and the reincarnated Japanese ended up in her place:

"Only, you can't save everybody. I finally get it. If I'm here saving a stranger, I'm not there protecting a family member."

Shiro struck the battlements in front of him with a powerful punch, without worrying about the pain:  
"If I had understood this earlier, I would have immediately gone to the king's castle to look for Sakura. Sakura is my family; she's like a little sister to me. In my childish desire to be a hero, I forgot that Sakura was among the population encircled in the city. If I had gone to protect her, she'd still be here! I would have saved her... but I was too concerned about saving complete strangers to help someone I care about."

Saber took Shiro in her arms. Her hand landed on his neck, and he gave himself up, his face on her shoulder. Trembling like a leaf, he was divided between cold anger and a deep disgust of himself. Tears would not appear on his eyelids.

* * *

At the top of a tower, Archer sat, gazing at the couple on the walls.

In the shadow of his hood a sad smile appeared:

"Tell yourself you're lucky, Shiro Emiya... you didn't realize the absurdity of your existence after becoming a dog of Alaya."

Prisoner of **Unlimited Blade Work**, the hero Emiya had planted swords for each of his victims. In the desert of his soul, there were only these blades under a sky of gears... a blade for each tomb. All his victims... condemned by order of Alaya. This vain massacre that had never made the world a better place had been the ultimate culmination of a journey that began when Shiro saw Kiritsugu smile through his tears.

Didn't that make sense?

A web of lies had spawned a lifetime of lying.

* * *

Near the palace of the king of Menevia was a garden of pleasure. Hedges of carefully cut boxwood formed a labyrinth sown with stones benches, statues of the gods, and some daedras. In its center was a large fountain of marble bench.

Sitting on the edge of the marble fountain was a figure with long, light hair, not really white, rather the color of snow at dawn, vaguely rosy. His long mage dress had something timeless... No, his entire appearance had something timeless and vaguely inhuman. He was playing with a big black staff in the shape of a Z. But at his feet, the spring grass seemed crazy. The humble flowers of the fields and those cultivated by the gardeners formed a true carpet. The colors and fragrances mingled in a heavy symphony.  
Merlin, the Magician of Flowers, looked with a half-smile at the teenager who was pacing in front of him.  
Rin Tohsaka had only one thing in common with the legendary spellcaster. Like him, she practiced _Magecraft_. For the rest, we could not have imagined a more different person.  
Crossing her arms on her chest, the Red Devil, uttered a grunt worthy of a bear:

"But what are they doing? Why didn't Saber bring this idiot back? I thought he wanted to know where Rider took my little sister!"

Discerning a movement, she displayed for a brief moment an expression of contentment... which disappeared when she recognized Archer coming out of the vegetal labyrinth:

"Ah... it's you, I was hoping it was Saber and Shiro."

Her former Servant spread his arms in a gesture of false surprise:

"You're not going to confuse me with Saber every time we meet? Still, I hope you have a little more memory."

Without paying attention to the angry red that appeared on the face of his former Master, he collapsed on a bench, legs spread, hands crossed between his thighs.

"Why are you here, Archer?"

He opened his eyelids again, staring at Rin with his colorless eyes:

"I'm coming with you."

As she blinked without understanding, Archer quickly added:

"I want to know where Rider brought Sakura. I'm worried about her too."

There was not an ounce of the usual arrogance of the Servant of the Bow. In fact, his voice was a little bitter. But this lasted only a brief moment, the hero Emiya poured a sardonic smile to his former Master:  
"And if you're looking for the stupid redhead, he's on a date with Saber... Oh, they forgot to invite you? "  
This time, Rin became as red as her usual sweater.

"It's none of your business! Where are they?"

The Servant quickly described the tower and gave her direction.

* * *

The _Magus_ had scarcely disappeared in the labyrinth that Archer regretted not having accompanied her. Merlin did not let go of his gaze. He pretends for a moment not to notice anything, but even an idiot like Shiro would find if someone stared at him with such intensity. With regret, the Servant in red cloak opened an eye:

"What?"  
The Magician of Flowers did not seem to be put off by the introduction of Archer. On the contrary, he smiled:  
"I love the different worlds that humans have created. But individually, humans are just as amazing. The slightest variation in events and their destinies goes in very different directions. So, in two universes, the same individual gave birth to two completely different personalities. Isn't that... Shiro?"  
The hero Emiya sighed as he looked up at the sky. Obviously, how could he have believed that he would succeed in hiding his true identity from Merlin?

"How did you understand?"

Merlin pointed his staff at Archer's chest:

"Each _Reality Marble_ is unique as it is the materialization of the soul of their invocators. And here I feel **Unlimited Blade Work**! So you're Emiya Shiro."

* * *

When Rin returned, she stood between Saber and Shiro, embracing them... the heiress of the Tohsaka seemed particularly happy while her two friends had red cheeks and fled the eyes. Archer muttered a swear word to the indifferent heaven. He did not want to know what they had done together.  
Merlin content himself with irony:

"Oh, I see the three of you are very happy to start. Perfect, I don't like to exercise my talents in front of an audience that thinks of something else, do I?"

The three young men stopped with the same look of guilt.

After a last mocking smile, the Magician of Flowers leaned over the fountain:  
"Ffynhonnell gwên arna i!" (3)

The fingers of Arthur's teacher touched the shimmering surface as he uttered the magic words. Immediately the water shone and a scene appeared.

Shiro could not hold back a cry of surprise by recognizing Sakura Tohsaka sitting on a bed in a vast room with bare walls that resembled a cell. As might be expected, the door was replaced by a locked gate and there was no lack of even the icy moisture oozing from the ceiling.

Using his clairvoyance power "_The Eyes Which See through the World_", Merlin showed them proof of his supreme art among other _Magecraft_ users. For whatever the quality of its _Magic Circuits_ no Magus could guide the peoples, protect the countries without this power received from the gods. Merlin's _Ex Rank_ qualified him as one of the greatest users of vision beyond vision. Nevertheless, his power was limited to the present. The Magician of Flowers could have no vision of the future, or of the past. However, his talent was sufficient to guide him to the first fragment of the Corvus Crystal, then to Shiro.

Rin examined her little sister with concern but reassured herself somewhat. Sakura did not seem to be hurt. She turned to Merlin:

"Where is she imprisoned?"

The Magician waved his staff and the vision changed, revealing a mountain range. The sky was grey, full of clouds and snowflakes dancing in the wind. On the side of a high icy peak, a construction was clearly distinguished. The elegant walls were decorated with multiple geometric reinforcements. The rampart surrounded several towers similar to crystalline twins. The highest of them was dominated by a golden bronze statue representing a humanoid holding the sun in his raised hands. The fortress was worn out by millennia of bad weather. Here and there, arches had collapsed and the surrounding area was littered with blocks unsealed by the frost.

Shiro recognized this type of construction:

"It looks like elven architecture. Besides, the statue is a representation of the god Auriel."

Merlin approved:

"More precisely, Auri-el, the sun god of the Snow Elves. This species unfortunately disappeared more than five thousand years ago, leaving behind only twisted and degenerate creatures. The fortress of Klaysha has new residents... and they are not as friendly as the builders."

The scene changed revealing the interior of the ancient fortress. Primitive-looking men, dressed in fur and feathers, walked through the worn-out corridors. Some wore hideous masks, a mixture of skin and bones, decorated with antlers. While others showed pale-skinned faces marked with war paintings. The eyes were blue or green, the hair blond, brown, sometimes red. They were all armed with primitive weapons of bone, wood, and stone: axes, machetes bristling with teeth, bludgeons decorated with feathers, coarse bows, and barbed arrows. Their outfits did not give them a really reassuring look.

Artoria had already faced these barbarians and recognized them immediately:

"Reachmen! They live in the Druadach Mountains, on either side of the border between Skyrim and High-Rock."

The Wizard of the Flowers smiles:

"That's right, my king!"

Only a slight tension betrays the annoyance of Artoria who did not like that her former teacher gives her "My King" on all points. Nevertheless, she focused on what she saw:

"Merlin, show us who leads them."

The Caster bowed with exaggerated politeness:

"As Your Majesty desires."

The scene changed again, revealing a throne room cluttered with a jumble of books piled up in unstable columns, mixed with scrolls of parchment, elements of an alchemy laboratory such as stills, retorts, and an athanor. Here or there, we saw sticks adorned with large soul gems, or by dragon heads. Elsewhere, bags were full of exotic ingredients, and open chests showed a shambles of amulets and magic rings.

In the center stood a stone pyramid with a staircase on one side. At its top was a simple stone throne with little decoration. A slender figure stood there shriveled... like a spider in the center of its web.  
Dressed in a luxurious mage dress, wearing magical rings on every finger and more than a dozen necklaces or fetishes hanging around his neck, he leaned on a large black staff. Merlin had to manipulate the image so that those present could recognize the face in the shadow of the hood:  
"Shinji!"  
The heir of the Matou behaved like some great magician lord... Moreover, the Reachmen present bowed down to the ground while the teenager hounded them from the top of his throne. His voice was not heard, but Rin Tohsaka, Artoria Pendragon, Shiro Emiya, and Archer had all witnessed his hare-brained ideas and violent whims.

The most furious one was Shiro:

"Saber, I don't think Shinji understood the lesson Berserker taught him."

His old Servant simply nodded, without vocalizing the anger on her face.

"I believe Matou must understand that my family and friends are not for being attacked."

At one time, Shinji was one of the friends he defended so fiercely... But the Shinji he had known was not that young man with deranged nerves and demented eyes who struggled on the throne of the fortress of Klaysha. Too many times, Shiro had left the benefit of the doubt to his former friend... not this time!

* * *

(1) Governing body of the Empire.

(2) Those familiar with the T.E.S. will probably have recognized the name of these two administrations. Decumus Scotti worked for them in the Black Marsh and Valenwood. Read "The Argonian Story" and "The Dance in the Fire", stories in several volumes that are found in the video games Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim. These books are very fun to read. But do not make you want to conclude a reconstruction contract.

(3) "Spring, smile at me!" (In Welsh).


	36. Chapter 35 The Druadach's Glacier

**The Druadach's Glacier**

* * *

The Druadach Mountains were one of the most important mountain ranges in Tamriel. These mountains separated Hight-Rock and Hammerfell, to the west, from Skyrim to the east. Some of the highest peaks on the continent were part of this rocky rampart.

However, looking at these mountains on a map and in reality, were two different things.

* * *

After six days of walking through valleys and hills covered with spring flowers, Shiro was awakened by the cold. Rather than snuggling up against Artoria, still sleeping next to him, he stood up, lifted up the skin of his tent, and looked out.

Day struggled to break through a landscape covered with white frost. His breath condensed as he came out of his lips as he discovered the grass and trees covered with a thick, icy layer.  
During the night, temperatures had dropped dramatically, literally freezing the hills under a shimmering setting.

As he looked around, he saw a high mountain emerging from the fog. According to the map, it was Tola peak. This peak was at the end of an advance of the chain to the west and was a good landmark.  
Hearing the barking of the dogs, the red-haired _Magus_ turned to watch the thick fur animals playing together.  
Near the second tent, the guides in charge of leading their small expeditions were busy harnessing them to sleds. Shiro frowned and approached them. There were three men between the ages of thirty and forty, dressed in fur and with a brown face. Members of the guild of warriors, Jurgen -the Nord- Bedoryan and Tristyn -the Bretons- had been warmly recommended to them by the master of the guild house of Wayrest because they knew the region admirably.

As Bedoryan saw him advancing, he smiled at Shiro in spite of the frigid wind which was only forcing:

"Sir Shiro, did you sleep well?"

The Amber Eyed Blacksmith scratched his red and tangled hair:

"All right, until the cold wakes me up. Why are you harnessing the dogs? There's no snow."

The man sniffed, hiding some amusement. With one hand he pointed to Mount Tola:

"Sir, you see the clouds? They are blocked by the mountains, in order to cross them, they will have to rise... and therefore unload. The wind is very cold; the rain will turn into snow before touching the ground. We'll let our escort leave with the horses and continue with the sleds."

The explanation was logical and was confirmed less than half an hour later by a real blizzard of snow and icy wind. Forced to retreat under the tents, Artoria, Rin, Archer, Merlin, Shiro and the three guides covered themselves with furs and squeezed around a wood fire that struggled to warm the atmosphere.  
Tristyn unrolled a map on a crate serving as a table:

'We must now decide what to do. There are two possible routes to the fortress of Klaysha. The first is to go around Mount Tola from the south-east, then go straight north. Except that we will have to cross a glacier. It's 350 kilometers in a treacherous land."

His finger had followed the most direct route he had indicated. Then, returning to the point where they were now, he described a vast arc around the glacier:

"Or we can cross the middle mountain and hill region to the northwest. Arrived at the height of the fortress, we will then take due east to reach Kalysha. That's a hundred kilometers more. However, the two itineraries are equivalent to ten days of travel."

With her chin on her fist, Tohsaka contemplated the guide who had just spoken. Her expression was thoughtful and her blue eyes questioning:

"If the shortest route is so dangerous and doesn't even save time, why do you propose it?"

Next to her, Saber nodded. Accustomed to tactical problems, the former king of Britain had immediately noted this inconsistency.

Tristyn sighed:

"The glacier is uninhabited except for the goats... and some Frost Trolls that hunt them. On the other hand, the hills and valleys in the northwest are populated. And the inhabitants are not friendly... they are Reachmen. They worship the "Ancient Gods", heretical deities who demand sacrifices of humans and Spriggans. Their women are witches and some turn into Hagravens. These monstrous mixtures of old women and ravens are the result of an exchange: power and immortality as hideousness and madness...  
Saber's eyes narrowed:

"I have faced the Reachmen before. Even if they are very primitive, they are fierce warriors who resort to magic. Crossing their territory would be very dangerous."

Jurgen approved:

"I went to the area several times. At the time, the Reachmen were not openly hostile. But there was no shortage of loonies who attacked foreigners on sight or of Hagravens eager to sacrifice travelers. Now, we can fear that all the old fortresses will be occupied. And it's not hard to track a group like ours in the snow."

Saber's eyes narrowed:

"I don't have any experience of glacier travel unlike you. You want to fill my ignorance, Sir Jurgen?"

The Nord approved by nodding his head:

"Indeed, I have often hunted in the area. I know the natural traps... and the local wildlife. Frost Giants are peaceful. As long as we don't bother them, we have nothing to fear. In fact, I was even saved by a Giant during one of my previous treks. Frost Trolls are a greater danger, but they are rather solitary. And a single individual does not attack a group like ours. In addition, they are afraid of fire. There are also the spectrums of the ice. Despite their name, they are not living dead. They are translucent snakes floating in the air. Their blood is colder than ice and they freeze all around them. However, the most dangerous creatures in the area are the Falmers. Entire tribes live in caves around glaciers and they fiercely hate all creatures that live on the surface."

Shiro Emiya turned to Merlin, giving him a questioning look:

"I thought you said the Falmers were extinct."

The Magician of Flowers smiles:

"Yes and no... The Snow Elves have disappeared, but their mutated, blind, evil descendants still live. The current Falmers may be the descendants of the ancient Falmers but these creatures twisted by hatred have, apart from the name, nothing more in common with their ancestors. So somehow I told the truth, the Snow Elves no longer exist. In fact, they experienced a fate similar to the Elves captured by Morgoth in the First Age. Tortured, mutilated, transformed, they became the Orcs." As all those present exchanged glances of incomprehension, Merlin blinked: "Finally, no one among you has read the Lord of the Rings? Doesn't the name Tolkien mean anything to you?" But they shook their heads. Merlin sighed: "At last, in short, the Falmers did not go out until nightfall and did not go far from the icy caves and ruins they occupied."

Artoria coughed in her fist:

"So to sum up, we have a choice between the long road that will lead us to a population in revolt or this dangerous glacier."

A hand passed over her belly, a finger raised, Rin took a professorial tone to settle the argument:

"Let's go through the glacier. These monsters are not specifically after us. They are not going to organize a hunt, or coordinate between tribes to kill us right now or cut our throats on the altar of the "Old Gods". The Reachmen do! I do not doubt the valor of those present, but eight against an army of bloodthirsty savages, the prospects are not in our favor."

All agreed, including Archer, who spoke for the first time.

* * *

The three dogsleds flew towards the horizon. The air was cold and clear, and the eyes opened up to the horizon a landscape of infinite white. The sky, on the contrary, was grey, crossed by heavy clouds that spread with snowflakes dancing in the wind.

Since the end of the storm, the huskies had run, eight of them pulling each sled. The hours had passed like a dream and the miles had disappeared in the wake of the powerful animals.

When the sun sank to the west, the little band settled down for the night. The dogs dug the snow to form primitive igloos while the humans pitched their tents.

After a quick meal, everyone went to bed except Archer, who took the first watch. Sitting on a crate, the ex-Servant would stir the fire vacantly. Suddenly, he had a small, ironic smile and without turning back, addressed the one who was looking at him:

"Well, Shiro Emiya, you don't know it's rude to stare at people. If you want to talk, sit down."

With his hand, he pointed to another crate.

The Amber Eyed Blacksmith sighed and glanced at Archer before sitting down as he asked.  
The wind was blowing. It was the only sound that sounded in the icy hills of Druadach On the other side of the fire, Archer did not seem to pay attention to him. And once again, Shiro felt irritated by the mere presence of the former Servant.

"So? Can't you speak? Did the cat got your tongue or did you suddenly become shy?"

Shiro loosed his hands, which he had clenched in fists He took a long breath and began:

"Why do you keep using the name, Archer? The Grail War is over."

The colorless eyes of Alaya's former dog narrowed slightly:

"And that keeps you awake?"

Usually, Archer's sarcasm would have made Shiro lose his temper. Not this time...

."I'm serious, Archer. You know, after Berserker killed you... Rin, Saber, and I talked a lot about you. You knew Saber, you had already met her before the Grail War. Besides, it is obvious that you recognized her at first glance. Rin also summed up a conversation for us. You described to her the aims and character of Artoria. You know Saber so well. Because of that, Rin thinks you lived in King Arthur's time. Only, Saber doesn't agree. If a warrior of your talent had lived in Britain, she would have known and invited him to the Round Table."

Archer's usual mocking expression snapped. His gaze briefly fogged...

"I am touched."

As his voice wavered, he coughed in his fist:

"Rin saw my past in a dream. Did she tell you?" As Shiro replied with a simple nod, the former Servant continued:" I was... an Alaya Dog, a member of the _Counter Force_. I have been invoked at all times of history by the _Will of Humanity_. I killed Islamic terrorists, the arsonists of Rome in '79 after Jesus Christ; I attacked the Bastille from the inside in 1789 and opened the doors to the French Revolutionaries. I've been invoked, over, over and over... so many times I've forgotten most of my missions. Every time history has gone off the rails and humanity's survival has been at stake, Alaya has summoned me. Each time, I killed those who caused this danger. Past, present, future, I was invoked at all times. In my memory, there were centuries of massacres, without chronology. My memories are only evenly stalked bloodied corpses. I've killed so many people that their graves could line up from here to the horizon, covering all the hills as far as the eye can go. This is my life, Shiro Emiya. A terrible existence that I have nevertheless called with all my wishes... You see, I wanted to help humans. I wanted the power to save the innocent, all the innocent without forgetting one of them. So I made a pact with Alaya to give me the power to achieve my goal. In exchange for what I was to serve her for eternity. I was young and stupid. I condemned myself to the hell of Alaya's endless war..."  
Shiro swallowed, there was what Archer said, but worse was the tone. The voice of the former Servant was dripping with contempt, anger... and suffering.

As Archer looked up, their eyes crossed and the Amber Eyed Hero trembled. For a moment this ire, this disgust had concentrated on him as if he was the cause of the hell experienced by Archer. The young _Magus_ forgot to breathe... Yet the impression dissipated so quickly, that Shiro wondered if he had imagined it.

Archer was again stirring the fire, his gaze plunged into the flame's dance.

"So now you know why the only name I want is 'Archer'. The name I received at birth is that of an idiot whom I soulfully hate."

Shiro Emiya licked his lips, trying to gather his thoughts. But Archer seemed to have reached the end of his tolerance towards the young man:

"Well, since I've answered your question, you should go to bed. Tomorrow the road will be even harder."  
"Wait... I wanted to thank you. I mean... Just before you went up against Berserker, you said, 'Emiya Shiro wasn't a fighter'. And something like: 'you only power was to imagine something that could defeat your enemy.' It made me think a lot and allowed me to better understand my _Tracing _ability. I would never have survived my first fight with Gilgamesh without what you told me. Thank you."

Archer seemed surprised, stopped for a moment biting the fire and then breathed a long exaggerated sigh:

"I must really be an incurable sentimental idiot... I mean, the truth is, I have to thank you, too. I took part in the Grail War to escape my private hell and... your wish allowed me to be reincarnated here. So, let's say we're even."

Shiro rose, hesitated, and looked up at the night sky:

"I think I've figured out why you hate me. I am a lot like you when you made that pact with Alaya."  
Fortunately, the redhead stared at the clouds, because the impression of shock on Archer's face would not have escaped him. Finally... the former Servant burst out with a mocking laugh:

"You have no idea."

* * *

An hour had not elapsed since Shiro's departure when someone approached the fire, Archer sighed:

"I haven't looked at the calendar, it's my party tonight? Usually, there aren't so many people who want to talk to me, Saber. Your watch hasn't come yet."

Clothed in a heavy fur coat, Artoria walked lightly, barely cracking the snow under her feet. In the reddening half-light of the campfire, her breathing condensed into a lightweight mist.

Sitting on the crate that Shiro had occupied a little earlier, she smiled at the former Servant of Rin:

"I had a weird dream. All the Knights of the Round Table were locked up with me in a psychiatric hospital on Earth. Mordred was afflicted with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Already Mordred under normal circumstances... "She breathed a heavy sigh without finishing the sentence. "I woke up startled as I tried to strangle Mordred to silence her... "

Her gaze was filled with suspicion as she looked towards the tent occupied by Merlin:

"I've never had such an absurd dream without someone getting involved."

Archer, who was making desperate efforts to hide an uncharitable laugh, realized that the breath of the Magician of the Flowers had paused. As a Servant, he did not need to sleep. And Archer knew enough about the Magician's bad jokes to confirm Artoria's doubts. It looked like a dream's manipulation like that crazy old man loved to do.

Removing the kettle from the fire, the hero Emiya served a cup of tea to Saber:

"Well, until your irritation subsides, why don't you have a little chat?"

Artoria replied with a smile to Archer and he felt like he had butterflies in his stomach. Even after centuries in the prison of **Unlimited Blades Work**, leaving only to enforce Alaya's will, the mere memory of Saber's beauty had prevented him from going mad.

"Actually, I have a question for you, Archer."

The Servant of the Bow spread his arms wide:

"I have no claim to omniscience, but if I can answer, I will."

After sniffing the aroma of the tea, Artoria tasted it and, despite her habitual self-control, showed some surprise:

"Archer, you prepare this drink with talent. Even Shiro does not infuse it with such perfection."

Embarrassed, the hero Emiya hastened to ask Artoria what her question was. The old Servant of the sword blinked several times, as if she seeking to remember:

"Ah, yes... at the beginning of the siege of Wayrest the Reachmen were present. However, when Rin and I returned with Shiro, they were no longer there. When did they leave?"

Archer shrugged his shoulders:

"They left camp someday before the first snows. I lost sight of them as they walked eastward. Subsequently, we received messages that they had entered the kingdom of Ephesus, south of here. But a great warrior rose up against them at the head of the knights of this country."  
Artoria frowned slightly with the mocking tone suddenly adopted by Archer. On the other side of the fire, the ex-Servant had crossed his legs and rolled his head back, displaying an irritating nonchalance.

"A great warrior?"

Archer winked at her:

"Yes, a kind of mad dog that bites as much as it barks... His name would be Cù Chulainn."

* * *

The duty of Artoria immediately following that of Archer, they remained for a long time to discuss. Then the hero Emiya yawned and rose to go to his tent.

Saber remained alone with the night wind for her sole company until a horrible howl startled her.  
A creature was advancing towards the encampment in the windy darkness. Artoria remembered her second childhood and the stories of the castle guards where she had resided on the foothills of the Wrothgars Mountains. They had described this cry to her.

A Grahl!

Artoria's silhouette was surrounded by golden light. An instant later, she reappeared wearing her dress-armor. She seemed to be holding nothing in her hands, but she adopted a typical two-hand sword stance, her invisible blade brought near her ear and raised to the sky.

Feverishly, she sought to recall the details of the guards' accounts.

The Grahl is a subspecies of the Ice Troll. Larger and slower, it is especially stronger and much more dangerous. Only one of these monsters can easily defeat three Ice Trolls or slaughter a company of soldiers.  
While a second cry awakened the sleepers in the tents, Saber saw the monster emerge in the light of the campfire. It was almost as big as an ogre, with the same gorilla silhouette and white fur as an Ice Troll. Like this creature, it had three small black and cruel eyes, the last of which was in the middle of the forehead.

Nevertheless, one could not confuse it with another beast. From its back emerged ice stalagmites while curved hooks similar to the tusks of a wild boar protruded on either side of its mouth.

Artoria leaped forward and the invisible sword whistled, opening a long gash on the monster's chest. The Grahl shouted but immediately retaliated, striking alternately with two fists. Her fighting instinct and the speed conferred by the _Mana Burst_ allowed Saber to dodge the attacks with ease. This giant Troll was certainly powerful... but slow!

In awe, the guides watched the battle. Saber seemed to dance with the horrible monster. She attacked there, leaped, twirled. Her hands seemed empty, but bloody streaks were constantly born on the arms, back, and chest of the Grahl...

However, King Arthur was beginning to worry. The creature's robustness was not exaggerated. The **Sword of the Wind King,** although a Noble Phantasm of C Rank, appeared unable to inflict any serious injury to the Grahl. The thick fur and its resistant leather-like skin were lined with a thick layer of fat that formed a natural armor. And like any other Trolls, its bones were harder than steel. Worse still, it has a very strong regenerative ability and the wounds closed almost instantly. Normally, the multiple small injuries would have weakened and slowed the enemy, giving Saber an opportunity to strike a decisive blow. But, with this foe, the cut seemed to have no other result than to encourage its fury.

* * *

A decisive blow had to be struck.

Artoria took a serious expression.

Lowering her blade, the King of Knights pointed it horizontally behind her right hip and slightly bent her knees.

As she loaded Excalibur with _prana_, the wind swirled around her hands, revealing a dazzling golden light. An instant later, she released **Invisible Air** and rushed forward at supersonic speed... to reappear about ten meters behind the monster.

For a moment the scene appeared frozen under the eyes of the spectators. Artoria motionless the sword again invisible, But the position of her hands indicated that Excalibur was pointing down at the height of her left knee... as at the end of an arc of circle begun in her previous posture.

Here, the Grahl vacillated on its knees, watching stupidly its two severed arms falling to the ground. The monster opened its mouth and choked under a flood of scarlet blood. It fell to the ground... half the bust on one side... the bottom on the other... cut in half!

Rin, sleepy and furious at having been awakened in a startle, comes up with a rune out of her purse. Infusing her Prana in the pebble engraved with a sign similar to a stylized bolt of lightning, she concentrated on the image of a high and lively flame before throwing it on the monster still agitated with tremors:

"_Sowilo_"  
Immediately the rune of fire released from the violent flames. Troll's fat burning particularly well, the remains were completely enveloped in the blaze that rose high, driving black and oily smoke towards the clouds.

Brandishing the fist, the forehead pleated with anger the Red devil insulted the dying Grahl:

"Heartless ugly, no one, you hear me? No one can deprive me of sleep and survive!"

If the monster hadn't been on fire, she probably gives it a kick or two. That was Rin all over. They had been attacked by a monster, they could all have died and she thought only of her ruined night.

The Tohska _Magus_ turned to Artoria and suddenly changed her attitude, offering a wonderful smile to the knight-girl:

"Thank you for stopping this creature!"

Nodding mechanically, Saber blinked as a shiver rolled down her spine... She knew Rin wasn't really a morning person, but she'd never seen her so mad before. The legendary King of Britain vowed to never be the cause of a sudden awakening of her friend. She was not sure to survive.

* * *

The sunrise welcomed the members of the small expedition around a solid breakfast. Everyone was rested and ready for a new day of travel... with the notable exception of Rin who was about as reactive as a zombie revived by an inexperienced amateur. Archer had to prevent her from going back to sleep several times.

Finally, the sled dogs were harnessed and the journey resumed. It was a beautiful morning. The wind had fallen in the night and a crystalline sky was discovered without the slightest cloud.  
The advance was fast and almost without difficulty.

In the evening, the dogsleds came to rest almost south of Mount Tola.

* * *

The next day, the temperature dropped sharply. The wind blowing from the North brought clouds laden with snow and the sleds advanced against the gusts of a howling blizzard that made the advance difficult and exhausting. One could not but advance at the price of constant efforts. Sweat froze on the face while snow weighed down theirs fur's clothes.

By nightfall, the travelers were so exhausted that they could only set up tents and cook a meal.  
Everyone suffered from frostbite, especially on the nose and ears. Without Rin and Merlin's healing skills, the situation would have been catastrophic.

* * *

However, the worst was yet to come. During the night, the wind began to blow harder and harder, knocking down the tents and rolling away the crates of food. Impossible to sleep, everyone clung to the ground to avoid being carried away. The snow seeped into the clothes, melted on contact with the skin, and then froze again.

At the first light of the day, all were exhausted, demoralized, frozen, and irritable.

It was incredible to think that the plain in spring spread all its seductions to only a hundred kilometers! While the low mountains were still in the middle of winter and were undergoing a polar climate!

Of them all, Rin was the most furious. For one reason or another, she took her fury out on Merlin, calling him a "junk magician". She accused him of not having the tenth of the power that the legend gave him. Otherwise, he would soon have stopped the storm!

Strangely, the Magician of Flowers listened to her without interrupting her once. He remained calm. It was only when she ran out of invectives that he spoke:

"Can I stop the storm? Yes, I can... and no, I'm not going to. Rin Tohsaka, you're a brilliant _Magus_, but obviously you don't know anything about climatology. A winter storm like this releases as much energy as an atomic bomb every second! This blizzard is the result of a thermal imbalance across the continent and the striking of air masses at very different temperatures. If I let go of this energy, I would cause a catastrophe in which the storm itself is nothing. None of you would survive it".

* * *

Fortunately, during the day, the wind gradually fell and the sun reappeared between the clouds. Its rays reverberated on a landscape of breathtaking beauty. The light transformed the Druadach Glacier into a brilliant diamond mountain shining of all the rainbow's colors.

This beauty alas was a danger by itself.

Their guides warned them that looking too long at this landscape they would gain only snow ophthalmia... that is to say the loss of vision!

The glacier was the main obstacle to their journey. By comparison, the terrain they had crossed was gentle. To begin with, the glacier formed a wall of ice that had to be crossed. As there was real chaos of rocks and ice blocks ahead, climbing did not present any difficulty on its own, but it was necessary to transport the dismantle the sleds and the dogs. It took them all day.

When they wanted to prepare the evening meal, a strong disappointment awaited them. Between what the blizzard had carried and the jolts imposed on the rest, the food rations were minced and reduced to pulp. Even Shiro and Archer's combined talent could not get anything appetizing out of it. Suffice it to say that the already low morale was strongly shaken... especially Saber's one.


	37. Chapter 36 The Ice Caves

**The Ice Caves**

* * *

The winds were so strong that it had become impossible to set up the tents at night. Once the sun disappeared, the temperature dropped so much that staying still for more than ten minutes was equivalent to a death sentence.

For three days and three nights, the small expedition had advanced on the Druadach glacier at the cost of superhuman efforts. With fatigue, the gestures became more and more difficult and the reflexes became dull. This resulted in falls in the ice chaos of the glacier. Bruises and abrasions multiplied. Merlin had to constantly heal and boost his companions so that they would not collapse.

Finally, on the fourth day, the blizzard calmed down. Drawing on their last strength, the members of the expedition established a camp before collapsing.

* * *

When Shiro came out of the tent he shared with Rin and Saber, the weather was superb. There were only a few clouds hanging like a sling on the flanks of Mount Krest. According to the map - rather imprecise- the citadel of Kalysha was only 100 or 120 kilometers away. They had already crossed half the glacier! It would probably take them another eight to ten days to reach their goal... without walking at night.

With the help of the guides, the Amber-Eye Hero began to prepare a solid meal. Rin was still asleep. Knowing the Tohsaka heiress, Shiro was willing to bet that nothing could awaken her except an artillery bombardment.

The case of Saber was different. The King of Britain had a strong appetite... to say the least. After four days without eating anything but pemmican, she must have been starving! Despite their precarious situation, Shiro could not help but smile. Already that Artoria ate for four in normal times, he had trouble imagining what she could swallow when she was really hungry.  
While Shiro and the guides were busy preparing the meal, Merlin sat on a crate, looking north. He seemed thoughtful, but in fact, he used his gift of _Clairvoyance _to detect the obstacles still waiting for them.  
As Shiro turned the head, he realized that a figure in furry clothing had moved away from the camp. The two girls in the group still sleeping, it could only be Archer.

* * *

The perfect vision of the former Servant of the Bow was one of the faculties he was most proud of. As he had previously declared to Rin, he could count to the smallest rivet of the bridge leading to Fuyuki, from the highest building of the new city.

If Merlin had decided to explore the world in search of dangers further along the way, Archer wanted to secure their nearby environment.

As he went around the camp, he saw a dark spot in the glacier. _Reinforcing_ his eyes, he zoomed in to discover a cave. This opening may have been natural, resulting from the striking of two plates of ice or some other phenomenon... but someone had raised a kind of screen to prevent the wind from entering. This rudimentary door was a kind of braiding of bands of black materials... which resembled chaurus' chitin (1).

Near the entrance, several piles of chitin were planted in the ice. Each was topped with a skull, Skulls of goats, and even that of a troll... but above all, human skulls.

Worried, Hero Emiya approached the cave.

Although he had never met Falmer, he knew that the degenerate descendants of the Snow Elves inhabited the Druadach Glacier. Cannibals and filled with hatred for the inhabitants of the surface whom they considered responsible for their downfall, they killed after long tortures all those they captured.  
He approached the cave, ready to materialize his twin swords at the first sign of danger. The ancient Alaya's dog felt through his _Clairvoyance_ abilities and his _Eye of the Mind (True)_ skill that something, an animal or a creature, was hidden behind the chitin screen. Worried about the safety of his companions, he continued his advance, ready to react to the slightest sign of aggression from the stranger...  
With agility far exceeding that of a normal human, Archer climbed a five-meter cliff in four fast jumps. Arrived in front of the screen, he had time to see a humanoid figure flee. However, as he spread the chitin screen, Archer heard the snapping of a broken rope. This sound preceded with a heartbeat the sound of a brutally released counterweight. Simultaneously, the ground collapsed under his feet. The former Dog of Alaya disappeared in a whirlwind of ice fragments.

* * *

Archer could be blamed many times, especially on his cynical and nihilistic personality. Often underestimated both by his allies and his opponents, he had always managed to win their reluctant respect. Archer was certainly not the most powerful among the Servants summoned to participate in the Fifth Grail War. But he was undoubtedly the most adaptable, the most versatile, and the best prepared for any change of situation.

As he fell into the void, his hands closed on the handles of Kanshou and Bakuya. Bending, he deflected his fall toward a wall and stuck his blades in the ice, slowing his fall.  
Suddenly dropping his weapons, he kicked himself to the opposite wall. Then, turning in the air, he struck both feet against the edge of the duct before continuing his maneuver, bouncing from wall to wall... until he emerged into a huge ice cavern, far below the surface.  
Deflecting his course towards a pile of snow, Archer rolled to the ground and straightened himself up. He didn't even have a scratch.

However, when he raised his head, he grimaced...

The opening from which he had fallen was barely visible in the ceiling, at least thirty meters above him. In addition, the fault was far from the wall and climbing would not be easy because of the irregularities of the ice cave. Of course, he could _Trace_ much more advanced mountaineering equipment than what existed on Tamriel... but without anyone to assist him, it remained too dangerous.  
Ruffling his hair with one hand, an equally familiar gesture of his "stupid version", he looked around him.  
His eyes revealed to him that he was not in a cave as he had first thought. It stood in a tunnel cut in the glacier and supported by pillars of cut stone. The construction was truly colossal. The ceiling was decorated with stalactites of ice, and the dripping of their melting filled the places with crystalline music.

The light came from metal cups filled with a magical and eternal fire suspended from the ceiling by chains. The play of reflections in the reflective walls like glass gave the illusion that thousands of these fires were shining, almost multiplied to the infinite.

It was a place of strange and unreal beauty.

Digging into his memory, the hero Emiya recalled the conversations with the guides during the first days of their journey. The Druadach glacier had been populated by the Snow Elves. Thousands of years before humans came to this part of Nirn, these Elves had dug the glacier and surrounding mountains to form a gigantic underground labyrinth. Its wide tunnels and caves were home to temples and cities that were now populated by their degenerate descendants and all kinds of creatures capable of living in this strange environment. Few people from the surface had ever entered this maze of galleries, let alone emerged from it.

The tunnel to his right had collapsed, the hero Emiya took on his left.  
After a kilometer of walking, Archer saw that the tunnel was dividing. Having lost his sense of direction during his fall, the ex-Servant could not know where these two passages could lead. He _Traced_ three small pebbles of stones marked with a rune (2). He concentrated on the mental image of Rin before releasing them:

"Berkana!"  
The runes began to hop up and up the road, he had followed. The hero Emiya sighed, shaking his head. Of course, the runes showed the most direct path to the person we were looking for, but they lacked intelligence. The pebbles were going to hop until the hole from which he had fallen and continue to hop on the spot... because incapable to climb to the surface. So, from here, there was no other way to Rin than this shaft.

With a thought, he dissipated the runes which evaporated into blue _Prana_ particles.

Of course, that was not good news. He was here, isolated, and without food. His companions probably had not yet realized his disappearance. Nevertheless, Archer was not one to tear his hair out and cry when life became difficult... especially when he had a mission. He concentrated and made three identical runes appear. The former Servant focused this time on the image of Sakura Tohsaka:  
"Berkana!"  
The runes ran down the right-hand corridor... as this was the most direct route to the Kalysha Citadel.

* * *

It was only when Shiro served the meal that Archer was found missing. As the others wondered about his absence, the Amber-Eyed Blacksmith remembered then to have seen him explore the surroundings of the camp but had no more paid attention to it.

They called without getting an answer from the former Servant of the Bow.

Merlin suddenly seemed to radiate pride. Alone of all the members of the expedition, he was not bundled up in heavy pelisses of fur. Insensitive to the cold, he still wore his mage dresses and leaned on his long staff with complicated shape:

"What would you do without me? I am like Gandalf for the Friendship of the Ring. Both the father and the guide of all... well, a Bishounen (3) version of Gandalf of course. Because, me, I am handsome and valiant like a young prince. Normal... I am the original after which we modeled the figures of all the magi of literature, films and video games. You can clap if you want!"

Artoria Pendragon narrows her eyes without saying a word, a rather violent reaction for a person so skilled in concealing her emotions.

"Merlin, if you have something to say, I urge you to speak plainly."

_The Magus of Flowers_ bowed:

"Of course, at your command, my king." He coughed in his fist before pointing to the cave discovered by the former Dog of Alaya: "Archer fell into a trap set by the Falmers. It is fine but is in the network of galleries dug by the Snow Elves. Without a way to reach us, he decided to continue towards the citadel of Kalysha."

While Saber was thoughtful and visibly worried, Rin uttered a small cry of distress:

"You have to reach him. Merlin, how can you get to these tunnels? The cave... You can reach the tunnels through the cave, can't you?"

Shiro passed an arm around his friend's shoulders, surprised to see that she trembled... and that the cold had nothing to do with it. It was only at this moment that he remembered Rin's expression when the last command mark had faded from the back of his hand in the Einzbern forest. Rin Tohsaka always sought to give her the image of a pure _Magus_ ready to do anything to achieve her ends. Except Rin was a caring person. Once she accepted someone in her life, she never stopped caring about that person. If one of her friends was in danger, she would want to help him. But we were talking about Rin, there... For her, helping a person often meant overwhelming him with ironic remarks or kicks in the buttocks, until he took the right path (the one she designated, of course).

Merlin looked at the _Magus_ with a slight smile:

"Unfortunately, I have explored the nearby galleries thanks to my _Clairvoyance,_ alas there is no passage to the Druadach underground from this Falmers cave. Even if they let us pass... which is far from being taken for granted."

As everyone looked at him with the same anxiety in their eyes, Merlin shrugged his shoulders:

'Come on, Archer is a resourceful person, we have to trust him. The underground universe he has reached is warmer than the surface and there is plenty of water. Our friend is not in immediate danger. There is also life and therefore food. If anything, it will reach the citadel before us."

_The Magus of the Flowers_ paused for a moment to take a dreamy look:

"I mean... if he doesn't meet an Ice Demon."

The name was not reassuring and Artoria regarded her former court mage with irritation:

"Merlin, what are you talking about?"

The Caster struck the ground with his staff and a scroll appeared in his other hand. He deployed it with a dry gesture. It was a sort of poster representing a humanoid monster as drew by the hand of a clumsy child.

If not detailed, the drawing still allowed recognizing a kind of saurian standing on its hind legs. Its scaly skin was blue, its body was muscular. It had small red eyes and its head was adorned with two series of short horns. There were bony points everywhere, especially on its chest and wrists. The larger ones came out of its shoulders. As for its feet and hands, they were reduced to three powerful claws.  
"Here's a Gehenoth, also called Ice Demon, it's a monster created by Bethesda Softwork for the mobile game _The Elder Scrolls travels: Dawnstar_, released in 2004."

As his other companions looked at each other, uncertain, Saber sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose:  
"What are you still talking about?"

As one heard a broken glass sound rising from the celestial vault, Merlin had a small crisp smile:  
"Oops, I broke the fourth wall again."

* * *

Archer had just walked for six hours without stopping. The ground covered with slabs cracked by time was equal and the advance easy. Cups of metal burning with eternal fire were still hanging from the ceiling. This brightness reflected by the ice illuminated the labyrinth of Druadach. At times, he had to bypass a stone pillar lying on the ground or piling up ice that had fallen from the vault. But, apart from that, the ancient underground world of the Snow Elves was in an excellent state of conservation.  
Unfortunately, what was true for this tunnel was not true for all the others. The effects of four thousand years of abandonment were felt. Thus, the hero Emiya arrived at the crossing of two underground galleries... except that a river had invaded the passage that cut his path. The icy and fast water bubbled with foam, chasing real icebergs.

Given the violence of the flow... and its temperature, trying to swim across it was death assured. But Archer was no ordinary man.

His _Magic Circuits_ awoke as he transformed his _Od_ into _Prana_, drawing bright green lines on his arms. _Reinforcing_ his muscles and bones, Archer leaps with superhuman speed and reflexes. Falling on a first iceberg he abandoned it immediately for a second before jumping on the other shore.

The eternal brightness reigning in the ice caves distorted the perception of time. It was impossible to guess what time it might be on the surface. Still guided by his runes, Archer traversed a complicated network of tunnels. At times, he discovered titanic rooms in which the ruins of abandoned cities remained.  
The dimensions of this underground world invited to humility. It seemed that the Snow Elves wanted to build a monument capable of defying eternity. However, it inspired bitterness in Archer. The greatness of their civilization, the power of their magic, had not resisted invaders having crossed the seas from the continent of Atmora. Hunted, persecuted by humans, the Snow Elves had disappeared from the surface of Tamriel. Refugees in the depths to escape their executioners, they had been enslaved by the Dwemers.

As he passed through a small agglomeration of some geometrically shaped buildings, alternating buttresses, and terraces lined with columns, Archer felt a smell of roasted meat.

The Wrought Iron Hero believed that hunger was playing tricks on him. But he had already spent much longer without eating without suffering from hallucinations.

No, it was a sign of presence... human? In these ruins, there was certainly no other human than him. Only on Tamriel, humans were not the only ones to control the fire.

Silent as a shadow, tracking the appetizing smell, Archer slipped between the small one-room houses that lined up in the shadow of a temple crowned with a gilded bronze statue representing Auri-el, the sun-god of the Elves.

In a half-collapsed priest's cell, two characters were active around a rudimentary roasting-jack. Humanoids certainly, but not really the kind of creature we'd like to meet... Small, bent, twisted, their skin was gray and rough, and their stringy hairs were rare and white like that of albinos. Thick wrinkles disfigured the thin, narrow faces. But the worst was the eyes. The eyelids were almost completely closed, allowing only an empty look to filter through... that of a blind man. Only their sharp ears recalled that their ancestors had been Elves.

As for clothing, they wore only strips of leather wrapped around their arms, a loincloth, and pieces of armor made up of roughly assembled pieces of chaurus chitin.

So here come the Falmers, the descendants of the Snow Elves. Enslaved in the depths, they had lost sight after centuries of mistreatment who also distorted their souls and bodies.

There was little chance that the creatures would welcome him peacefully, but Archer advanced into the entrance of the room without hiding, his arms along the body, his hands empty...  
The Falmers, however, were blind and turned towards him as soon as his steps resounded. No doubt they perceived their environment by a form of echolocation, like bats.

As for non-violence...

It would be for another occasion. The two monsters started screaming. One of them took a bow and arrows of chitin, while the other drew an equally primitive sword.

With one thought, Archer brought forth the Bridal Blades. Careful to interpose the Falmer who attacked him on contact between him and his companion armed with a bow, he jumped aside at the moment when the swordsman hit a blow. Archer went whirling away... Multiple wounds appeared as if by magic on the bust of the humanoid who fell to his knees, his hands tightening his throat from which came boiling blood. His comrade had fallen, the second Falmer let go of the rope of his bow... but Archer had already changed position to throw Kanshou and Bakuya. The swirling blades cut the humanoid into pieces.

The fight lasted less than fifteen seconds.

* * *

Ironically, the Wrought Iron Hero thanked the two dead Falmers for the meal they had so kindly prepared for him. Once his hunger satisfied, Archer then began to search the room. But he found nothing interesting. The possessions of the counterfeit creatures consisted of two dirty mats and hideous chaurus' chitin trinkets. None of this was of any interest.

The former Dog of Alaya sat down in front of the fireplace and only at that moment became aware that the fire was burning in a half-sphere of metal under the spindle. He carefully took the cup, but it was barely warm... Lifting it up to his gaze, Shiro Emiya used _Structural Analysis_ to discover the nature of the object:

"_Trace O_n."

It was a portable version of the eternal fire bowls hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the halls of this titanic labyrinth. A second cup was next to the one he was holding. That was the complementary part of the first. He screwed the two parts on each other, extinguishing the flame.

The darkness did him good. He realized that he had trouble keeping his eyelids open.  
Reluctant to sleep in one of the Falmer's vermin-infested benches, the hero Emiya _Tracing _a futon and lay down.

His last thought was that he had survived his first day in this ice maze. He had even found food and an eternal way to light himself and make fire. It was now enough for him to do so well tomorrow... After all, the key to long-term survival was to survive one day after another.

* * *

Artoria, Rin, Shiro, Merlin, and their three guides had resumed their walk on the glacier after Archer's disappearance. For another six days, they had advanced in spite of the icy winds and the blinding brightness of the sun reflecting on the ice chaos that surrounded them.  
The sleds were moving quite quickly, and their passengers were not complaining, the blizzard had spared them and they had become accustomed to this difficult progression. However, what they did not yet say was that they still had to face the worst ordeal of this odyssey.

* * *

The citadel of Kalysha stood on the mountainside about thirty kilometers away. The clear stone walls and wind-eroded spires were only the emerged part of an immense complex.  
The Snow Elves had deployed all their architectural knowledge to build this wonder and the highest arcane of their magic to protect it. In fact, the citadel could be described as _Mystic Code_, a very powerful magical object whose creation had mobilized the most famous _Magi _from this period.  
The fantastic power of Kalysha was accessible only to the master of the citadel and controlled from his throne. This explains in large part that Shinji Matou hardly leaves this room.  
Shiro Emiya would have found it difficult to recognize the one he had long considered one of his rare friends. Wearing a dress covered with mystical glyphs and a richly decorated tiara, he was busy searching among his "toys": magic staffs, wands, scepters, and spellbooks all more powerful and incredible than each other. These wonders constituted his payment...

Knowledges that he was unable to assimilate, let alone use properly, objects that he merely activated awkwardly without understanding them.

Do you know the biblical parable: "Do not give the dogs holy things, and do not throw your pearls to swine, lest they trample them on their feet, and turn and tear you"?

Shinji Matou was the perfect illustration of this sentence.

All wide-eyed, laughing like a maniac, he thought he had finally become a true _Magus_. Except Shinji was actually just a tool used by far more powerful than him.

"Master!"  
The call from Medusa made Shinji turn around. Furious at being disturbed, he was about to insult the ex-Servant when he realized that they were no longer alone in the throne room. A third silhouette had materialized while his back was turned. Yes, a silhouette... but nothing else... a human form entirely made of shadow like a tear, like a breach in reality that would lead only to nothingness.  
Kalysha's master swallowed nervously and his scratched voice seriously lacked confidence when he spoke:  
"Angra Mainyu... what... what are you doing here? What do you want?"

Forgetting his role as "_Grand Magus_", the teenager had retreated. A voice at once mocking and strangely impersonal replied:

"You're having fun, Master de Rider? You got everything you wanted? Do you even remember why I made you the master of this citadel?"

Forgetting his fear Shinji straightened up:

"Of course, King of Daemons, you want my help with your rebirth."

"Well, you haven't forgotten. And it's time for you to pay your debt. Look!"

A scene formed in the air before Shinji's eyes. It was like a window in a circle of darkness. Through this opening, he saw the dogsleds of the small expedition that went in search of Sakura. Despite the heavy furs worn by the arrivals, the adolescent with blue hair immediately recognized them:

"Tohsaka... Shiro... It's their fault. It's their entire fault. It's because of them that I lost any chance of getting the Grail. This Tohsaka bitch even dared to reject me when I had done her the honor of choosing her... and Shiro this fake friend... he has me... "He paused to phrase it differently"... by some miracle, he managed to beat me!"

Acvanger laughed:

"He also gave you this second life."

But Shinji did not calm down. With a quick gesture, he cut the air from his hand:

"He's the reason I died. It's his entire fault!"

Angra Mainyu was hardly impressed by his vehemence:

"Kill them, all, kill them, kill... everyone... Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Having shouted these last words, the dark monster quickly faded. An instant later there was nothing left.  
With a very bright look, trembling, and excited by the evil presence that still permeated the air, Shinji ran to his throne.

* * *

There was no warning sign.

At one moment, the sleds were running on the glacier, pulled by the white-fur dogs. And then, the next moment... everything disappeared in an unbearable golden light.

The blast of a titanic explosion seized the crews of the dogsleds and threw them to the ground, sending them to roll among the ice pitons that broke under the violence of the elements unleashed.  
Saber had the reflex to materialize her armor. She leaped to catch Shiro, who was sliding towards a crevasse that had just formed in front of him, and then seized Rin.

The former Servant placed them in the shelter of an ice cliff that had suffered little from the explosion. Turning around, Artoria Pendragon widened her eyes. One of the mountains in the south-east had a huge impact. The snow that covered it only a few minutes ago had completely disappeared and golden flames were still burning around a large mark of molten stones.  
Merlin had managed to protect himself from the blast. Unlike Rin, Shiro, and Saber who were still shocked he had perfectly realized what had happened:

"We are being attacked, it is a very powerful magic weapon. The shot comes from the Kalysha Citadel."

* * *

If an individual more mature and less messy than Shinji had sat on the throne of the citadel, everything would have ended at that moment. But Angra Mainyu used the tools at his hand, the people who let himself be seduced by him...

Unable to focus for long on the study of a subject, Shinji Matou had not spent enough time understanding how the throne functioned, how he transmitted his orders to the statue of the god Auri-el at the top of the highest spire of the citadel. He just used that power awkwardly.  
The shot was approximate, missing its target by several kilometers.

With his forehead covered in sweat, Shinji trembled while concentrating on the mental image he had of his target.

* * *

At the top of the citadel, the statue of the god Auri-el held the representation of the sun in his hands. The gold disc was getting brighter and brighter.

Even at a distance, Saber saw clearly the golden point of light that was born. Excalibur in one hand, the legendary King of Knights stretched out her arm:

"**Avalon**"  
The sheath of her sword appeared before her fingers. Her eyes folded as she surrounded herself with a prismatic light radiating from all the colors of the rainbow.

Better focused, the ray of sunlight hit right on its target... but **Avalon: The Everdistant Utopia** was a Noble Phantasm who gave an "absolute defense" against any attack, a shield enveloping his possessor in the realm of fairies.

The flow of the attack broke on this perfect defense and was reflected like a mirror. Beams of golden light bounced back, falling randomly in the direction of the citadel, opening craters in the ice or striking the nearby mountain, fanning the glacier for miles, and raising geysers of vapors.

* * *

"It's impossible! How could they survive my power?"

On his throne, Shinji was furious. The mental effort he had made to control the second attack had almost drained him of all strength, but anger stimulated him. To see these pathetic insects resist him was absolutely outrageous. It was an insult to his power. He was going to show them.

Shinji Matou once again closed his eyes... this time gathering enough power to strike was going to take time.

* * *

**Avalon** was the most powerful Barrier type Noble Phantasm. This Noble Phantasm had only one flaw, its difficulty of use. The user had to remain motionless and the effect was brief. In other words, it was an impregnable but ephemeral fortress.

Moreover, like all Noble Phantasms, it was fed in _Mana_ by its possessor. Now, Artoria had become a mortal again... and had far less _Mana_ than the Servant Saber of the Fifth Grail War. Panting, she leaned on her great sword. There in the north-east, the golden light had reappeared. Another shot was being prepared. This attack had to be stopped... except she could barely stand up.  
Merlin straightened himself, running towards the Amber-Eyed Hero:

"Shiro, Artoria showed you several Noble Phantasms used by the Knights of the Round Table? Is the Galahad Shield one of them?"

The young man struck his eyelids but immediately understood where the Servant was going:

"**Lord Camelot**? Yes, of course. But I can only create a much-weakened version. I would never..."  
"You don't have time to doubt the capabilities of your _Reality Marble_. These limitations are in your head, especially in the case of a Noble Phantasm like the shield of Galahad. The power of **Lord Camelo**t depends on the heart of its user. As long as the defenders of Camelot have the courage, faith, and will to fight, the white walls of the king's castle will never fall. Focus on that and let me help you."  
As Merlin closed his eyes, his hands gathered on his big staff, a golden light appeared under Shiro's feet.  
Passing his tongue on his dry lips, the Blacksmith with the Eyes of Amber came to post himself near Artoria. He closed his eyes and extended his hand before him. Green bright lines appeared on his arms. Concentrated, suddenly calm, it decomposed the different phases of reconstruction of an object by the _Magecraft_ known as _Tracing_:

_Judging concept of creation_

_Hypothesizing on structure_

_Duplicating material composition_

Small flashes were formed around his tight fingers. A bluish mist began to form around Shiro.

_Imitating the skill of making_

A wireframe model appeared in the air, it seemed like a cross with a curved disc in its center.

_Sympathizing with the experience of its growth_

_Reproducing the accumulated Years_

_Excelling every manufacturing process_

Shiro Emiya then opened his eyes hypnotizing himself by focusing on his incantation:

"_Trace, On !"_

The Noble Phantasm of Galahad suddenly acquired materiality. Black, dense, almost as big as a man, it had the shape of a Latin cross whose branches extended a broad circular shield.

* * *

Far from it, Shinji had accumulated enough power and was preparing to shoot certain of having the most powerful weapons.

He prepared to shoot.

Who was going to win?

The sword that could slice the mountains?

Or the unshakable shield?

* * *

(1) The chaurus is a giant insect found in the marshes of Skyrim and also in the caves. Like many creatures from the north of Tamriel, the cold does not bother him. It is even found on glaciers.

(2) Ironically, it was Rin who taught Shiro the basics of _Runic Magecraft_. Given the low power of his _Magic Circuits_ and that his _Origin _was an element as exotic as "sword"; Shiro Emiya was limited to the forms of _Magecraft_ not involving the elements.

(3) _Bishounen_, a "beautiful man" in Japanese. The term is mostly used in _Otome_ games... you know, these inverted harem games where girls play a beautiful princess and she has to "capture" a beautiful prince.


	38. Chapter 37 Haleberd and shield

**Dan1142000: ****All this is true and well observed, I do not dispute it... Nevertheless, it is not an error of the author.**

**Remember that Saber's Dragon Core transforms the energy from food into mana. However, Artoria walked for four days without eating through a snowstorm. It was already exhausted when she called on Avalon.**

**In Fate/ Stay Night Artoria is forced to dissipate her armor after using Avalon against Gilgamesh (also see the prologue of this FanFic) to have enough energy to use Excalibur.**

**Yes, Avalon is not an expensive Noble Phantasm, but that does not mean that its use is "free". Moreover, I am reluctant to use Avalon too often in my story, simply because it is a faculty that breaks the balance of forces. We see it in the previous episode. The scabbard is able to stop the ultimate weapon of the ancient Falmer. In fact, Avalon can even stop the power of a god... and even turn it against him.**

**Remember especially that I try to balance the forces between the "foreigners" (from the Fate universe) and the nationals of the TES license. That's the first reason the Servants were reincarnated into human bodies... Far too many FanFic authors import their favorite character into another universe just for the "locals" to serve as a punching ball to their favorite character. This makes the story predictable, repetitive, it removes all suspense (or how to ransack an epic in four lines) and besides it is not very respectful for the universe so scorned.**

**Halberd and shield**

A long time ago in China, a gun dealer whose name has been forgotten had his stall set up in a small provincial town. With glibness, he praised his rather ordinary weapons. According to him, his halberds could break any shield, while his shields were impossible to shake.

These bragging of walking traders looking for customers do not deserve the ink needed to put them on paper. If not a wise philosopher lived in that city. When he heard the boasting of the merchant, he turned to him:

"And what would happen if I took one of your halberds to hit one of your shields?"

The arms dealer of course did not know what to answer, but on returning home the philosopher continued to meditate.

What would happen if we opposed the insurmountable force to the unshakeable defense?

The question often asked later was answered only by a series of paradoxes. Since - to merit the name of "insurmountable"- a force had to be able to annihilate any defense and that - to merit the name of "unshakable"- a defense had to be able to stop any force.

The question of the ancient Chinese philosopher never received answers because a lack of practical examples...

Shiro Emiya staggers, trying to catch his breath. The cross-shaped shield was heavy, dense and gave an impression of incredible hardness. On the verge of falling, he leaned on the black shield of Galahad.  
Merlin also seemed tired and his features were drawn. Nevertheless, the Magus of the Flowers smiled:  
"Congratulations, Shiro. You succeeded to _Trace_ **Lord Camelot**. And its abilities were not diminished."  
The Amber Eyed Hero nodded. Mechanically, he resorted to his _Structural Analysis_ ability... The Noble Phantasm was qualified as B+++, specialized in the fight against the forces of Evil.

On the throne of the Falmer Citadel of Kalysha Shinji concentrated intensely. Usually, the adolescent so infatuated of himself considered as unworthy of him any prolonged effort. Lazy and lacking immediately in ideas, he was often content with fast and imprecise work. Even if it means discarding oneself on the first coming of any error and any breach... because - of course- it could not be his fault.  
However, Shinji Matou was awfully proud. When he felt humiliated or annoyed, he could show tenacity in revenge that contrasted with his usual laxity.

On the throne of the former king-priest, his forehead was covered with sweat. Little accustomed to exerting great efforts, he really suffered... especially since the solar concentration mirror of the fortress was not designed to shoot several times in a row.

But Shinji continued to amass _mana_. Unlike the first two shots, it would not be satisfied with a low-power shot intended to destroy a group of individuals. He was going to volatilize the entire glacier... with no regard for the consequences for the environment and the people.

**Avalon** could never have stopped such an attack... because the action of this _Noble Phantasm_ was limited to protecting his wearer. Shinji's desire to destroy everything was only a reaction of infantile pride... However, the cataclysmic consequences of the shooting would devastate the entire region. Even a person who survived the concentrated solar bombardment would be swept away by the annihilation of the glacier, and the collapse of the nearby mountains.

Merlin's _Clairvoyance_ had fortunately enabled him to understand that only **Lord Camelot** could stop the ultimate weapon of the Falmers.

What defines evil is intent. A knife is not evil in itself. It can be used to cut an apple, or to stab a man. It's all in the hand that holds it.

While Shinji's will directed the golden mirror held by the statue of the god Auri-El, anger, it was his scorned pride and contempt of others that supported the (self-proclaimed) Great Magus. These emotions were definitively not positive ones. Thus, at that moment, the ultimate weapon of the Falmers was an incarnation of evil.

This had nothing to do with a detail, the shield of Galahad could release all its strength only if it faced evil.

Merlin concentrated and reached out to Shiro. Once again, a golden light appeared under the Hero's feet.  
"Now!" cried the former teacher of Artoria.

Shiro Emiya _strengthened_ his muscles and bones, raising the cross-shaped shield, he struck it in the ground:  
"_True Name, unveiling—I shall rise to the Siege Perilous."_

The shield struck the ice with a blunt blow, skimming into its support. Immediately a complex barrier surrounded it, a pentacle formed of glyphs as woven of moon rays and fairy roots.

"_The place that cures all wounds and dissolves all hatred, our home, sits here!"_

"_Manifest, _**Lord Camelot**!"

Before Shiro, and around him, blue_ prana_ particles assembled to form walls of silver light that soon materialized in the form of a white stone rampart adorned with blue banners... the walls of Camelot, King Arthur's castle, the ultimate bulwark against the forces of evil.

Shinji belch:

"Die, you pathetic insects!"

As he laughed, the statue of Auri-El blazed with golden light. The mirror fashioned in the likeness of the flaming solar disk emits a wide ray of an unbearable brilliance. It bathed the entire glacial valley with a blaze of golden fire.

Like a sudden flood, the golden light surged to sweep everything in its path.

This blinding tidal wave collided with the alabaster wall and the world was shaken. The mountains trembled, avalanches ran down their sides. In the sky, the clouds were pushed back to the other end of the horizon.

Rin Tohsaka held onto a piece of ice as cracks opened in the glacier. She failed to fall into the depths, but Artoria caught up with her and pulled her to safety.

They both kept their eyes closed even though they were protected by Camelot's rampart. Staring at the sunlight from the solar weapon would have made you blind in seconds.

What would happen if we opposed the inexorable force to the unshakeable defense?

In reality, far from philosophical assumptions and general principles, we realized that there was never a really balanced confrontation. When two people opposed each other with equally powerful weapons, whether it was absolute powers or wooden swords, two things quickly made a difference between the duelists.

The first was that the insurmountable halberd like the unshakable shield was no more valuable than the one who held them in hand.

However, Shinji Matou had never "stooped" to seriously study the solar weapons of the ancient Falmers. In his arrogance, he did not doubt his complete mastery of his weapon.

On the contrary, Shiro Emiya knew that he did not fully control his _Marble Phantasm_ and that the weapons he recreated from the blue print stored in **Unlimited Bladework** were not perfect. Every time he traced a _Noble Phantasm_, it was somehow a struggle against himself. Despite the risks for his mental health or the damage his Magic Circuits could endure, Shiro tried again and again to surpass himself...  
The second thing that could upset the balance had many names. Some simply called it luck, others divine protection. These were all the external factors that could suddenly change the balance of power.  
In a world like Nirn, luck was by no means a blind factor. The Ehlnofeys were gods who lost their immortality for following Lorkhan (1) at the beginning of time. They had died eons before. But by dying, they had become the Bones of the Earth. Merging into Nirn, they had become the will of this world. Unable to act on their own, the Ehlnofeys chose a champion, manipulating chance, and ruling over the realm of coincidence to favor him.

Now, these fallen gods had no reason to support Shinji who endangered their work as their Elven and human descendants (2). So they supported Shirou against his opponent.

The end of the fight came when Shinji lost consciousness, collapsing at the bottom of his throne. Medusa called the guards at the door to fetch a healer while she wore the "Great Magus" in his apartments.

On the glacier, a real trench had opened in front of the walls of Camelot, where the power of the solar ray weapon of the Snow Elves had broken against the wall. The ice had sublimated into steam, and a fog as dense as an oven hovered over the battlefield.

Exhausted, Shiro released the shield of Galahad, which immediately dissipated a shower of blue particles. The walls of Camelot had also disappeared and his horrified gaze discovered the devastated glacier. Large pools of boiling water dug funnels into the ice. The crevices widened as shocks rocked huge chunks of ice to the depths. The stability of the whole seemed in great danger. Shiro realized that a chasm could open beneath them at any moment.

Nevertheless, before he could say anything, a sudden pain passed through his body, radiating from his spine and spreading throughout his body. He tried to straighten himself, but his left arm and leg hung inert like wooden prostheses.

He turned to the magician:

"Merlin... I can't move..."

A worried expression passed over the exhausted face of the old teacher of Artoria. He put a hand on his back and concentrated a few moments:

"It's not good news... To put it simply, you've pushed your _Magic Circuits_ too far. They're completely jammed in the entire left part of your body. But it could have been worse. I mean, you could have killed yourself, completely fried your _Magic Circuits_ or stayed paralyzed for life."

Merlin concentrated and a heat spread through his body:  
"Well, that should help you. However, it is out of the question that you use your Magic Circuits for three days... at least."

Rin Tohsaka also got up. She and Saber discovered the extent of the disaster. The landscape had been completely turned upside down. Worse, there was no trace of the sleds, the dogs and their guides. They had hardly survived thanks to their extraordinary abilities... but no normal human could remain alive in the midst of such a cataclysm. Besides... a jolt made her fall to her knees. Horrified, the young _Magus_ saw a real ice cliff rise about ten meters in front of her. Turning around, she understood that it was in fact the opposite... the ice plate on which they were standing had just sunk into the glacier. It leaned sharply to her right, on the point of tipping!

As she was struggling to get up, once again with the help of Artoria (silent but worried) Merlin shook his head with dismay:

"I have no choice, I'm going to use all the _prana_ I have left to get us out of this. Hold on to me."  
There was a brief flash of light and the quartet disappeared.

Hundreds of miles away, Rin, Artoria, Shiro and Merlin reappear near the fountain in the centre of the formal garden that flanked King Eadwyre's castle in Wayrest.

The sky was blue, the temperature spring. With their thick furs still covered with snow, Tohsaka and Emiya seemed quite incongruous. As for Saber, she wore her armor on her blue dress.  
However, forgetful of their environment, all stared at Merlin who stared at his hand... The fingers had become translucent and the wind that blew softly carried away blue particles. The magician had a sad smile:

"To use all its _prana_ for a Masterless Servant can have only one way out... "  
Saber's eyes widened:

"Merlin, you sacrificed yourself to save us?"

The Servant bombards the torso with pride and uttered in a grandiloquent tone:

"Such is my devotion to my king."

Rin pressed her hand on her face in the classic gesture of the facepalm:

"Before everyone starts crying a river... I remind you that Merlin is safe! He'll just wake up in the Garden of Avalon and be able to come back to us soon."

The Magus of the Flowers cast a disgusted look at the Red Devil:

"You could have let me enjoy my hero status a little longer, Miss Tohsaka!" He turned to Artoria and smiled: "But she is right, my king. I received eternal life as punishment for interfering in your destiny... I would come back. Unfortunately...it would take me months, maybe even years. And of course, you will no longer benefit from my help until I return." Merlin closed his eyes." Now, let me focus... there's one last thing I can do before I go."

There was very little energy left for the half-succubus, fortunately it was a matter of using an innate faculty. He concentrated on sending a message to the one person who could still prevent the resurrection of Angra Mainyu.

His body gradually became transparent. When Merlin opened his eyes, his consciousness began to fade. His last thought was bitter. He had been immortal since his birth and the curse of the Lady of the Lake made him impossible to kill... Nevertheless his life continued to resemble a succession of failures. Once again, he abandoned his king while she faced great dangers.

In the depths of the glacier, Archer fought for his life.

It began with three successive shocks, each more violent than the other. After the third, blocks of ice had broken away from the ceiling, followed by streams of _boiling_ (!) water...

Hero Emiya saw only one thing that could trigger such a catastrophe: an A or Ex rank _Noble Phantasm_! Did Saber and Gilgamesh face each other again on the surface?

The tunnels of the Snow Elves had been invaded by water. It was a real cataclysm. The vaults threatened to collapse, undermined by the waves that had engulfed the vestiges of the Elven civilization. The former Servant ran, dodging the blocks that broke from the ceiling.

He had survived until then thanks to his speed and agility, leaping from ice block to ice block in the midst of the madness that had seized the labyrinth of the ancient Falmers. However, he knew that his chances of survival were diminishing from moment to moment...

Climbing with a few leaps a high stone pyramid that valiantly resisted the waves, he positioned himself on the upper platform and concentrated:

_"I am the bone of my sword"_

_"Steel is my body and fire is my blood"_

_"I have created over a thousand blades"_

Having completed the three phases of the _pre-Projection_ process, Archer could _Trace_ even the most expensive _Noble Phantasms_.

**Unlimited Bladework** contained mostly swords and other weapons that approached the concept "sword" which was the element of Shiro Emiya, the root of his _Magecraft_. Lines of energy in front of his outstretched hand formed a kind of wireframe model that acquired colors and densities in a few seconds.  
His fingers closed on the handle of a Persian _shamshir_, a "lion's tail" (since that was how the term was translated) scimitar beautifully adorned.

This _Noble Phantasm_ had a famous possessor, the Persian hero Rostam, perhaps the greatest hero of the legends of this country.

Archer brandishes the sword towards heaven:

_"Out of my sword I beheaded the beast, and blood flowed out of his chest like a torrent.__"_

شمشیر بهار

(3)

According to legend, Rostam was lost in a desert as he sought to deliver the Shah prisoner of the white demon. Dying of thirst, delirious, the hero implored God... and a sheep appeared guiding him into the desert. Where the animal came to rest, Rostam planted his sword in the ground and a spring sprang from it. Soon after, the hero faced a dragon and slaughtered it... draining it of its blood which formed a veritable tidal wave. Crystallization of these legends, Rostam's _shamshir_ controlled the liquids.  
Responding to Archer's will, the _Noble Phantasm_ slowed down the flow of water that broke into the rooms and redirected it to the widest corridors so that the water was quickly discharged.  
He then drew a nameless _Noble Phantasm_, a dagger capable of launching an ice attack. Sculpting the water with the sword of Rostam, freezing it with the dagger, he closed the cracks, and einforced the walls.

Exhausted and hungry, Archer leaned against a wall. He had not eaten all day, but the iron discipline to which he had bound himself for centuries enabled him to forget suffering and discomfort.

His eyes closed. Sitting he slept...

Archer's eyes opened on a landscape he knew by heart. In a sky obscured by clouds of smoke turned gigantic gears. The air stink the smell of fire. Up to the horizon there were only dunes, a mineral landscape sculpted by the wind... sand dunes planted with swords of all kinds; Some were only coarse pieces of metal, others could have been used for the coronation of a king, some were European, others came from Asia or the Maghreb. An infinity of weapons planted like so many crosses, each representing a person that Archer had killed...

His version of **Unlimited Bladework** surrounded him as far as the eyes can see, a _Marble Phantasm_ which served as Noble Phantasm to Archer, the only magic that was allowed to Emiya Shiro.  
Archer sighed with annoyance. He slept, knew he was asleep... and yet he was here. His _Marble Phantasm_ was a prison from which he could never really escape because Archer had forged the jails bars himself before planting them in his own heart with his own hands.

Sitting on the highest dune, Archer let his head fall down to contemplate the sand. His lips forming a bitter fold and his eyelids letting filter a burning look of a black anger... Emiya Shiro deserved what happened to him.

Archer jolted as he heard a strange voice interrupting his self-pity:

"This is Hero Emiya's answering machine, speak after the beep... Biiiip!"

Furious and annoyed, Archer turned to Merlin, standing a few steps away. The Magus of the Fowers was pinching his nose:

"You have a new message, today at 15:19"

Archer made a dismissive gesture:

"I've always hated answering machines..."

The magician stopped pinching his nose and smiled with a frank smile:

"But the message is important. The one you call 'your stupid version' just confronted Shinji Matou...  
With furrowed eyebrows, Archer listened to Merlin recount the clash between the new master of the Kalysha fortress and its younger version. He nodded when the Magus of the Flowers had finished:  
"I see" simply noted Alaya's former dog.

"As I am vanishing, I am sending you this last message. It is very important that you do not give up on freeing Sakura Tohsaka."

Archer turned backwards with this false nonchalance that always boiled Rin's blood.

"I suppose, of course, that this young girl suddenly took on great importance." He straightened his eyes and stared at Merlin with an annoying acuity: "What are you hiding from me, _Magus_?"  
"You want to know everything? So listen and especially... look... "

With a gesture of the hand, Merlin swept the scene, and the landscape disappeared replaced by a vision of hell... a hell familiar to Emiya Shiro.

Sitting on the bollard preventing cars from riding on a bike path, Archer was on top of a hill covered with small houses typical of the Showa era (4). It recognizes the city cut in half by a river spanned by a red painted suspension bridge. He was near Mount Enzo and saw to the left the old town of Miyama and to the right the high towers of Shinto... ravaged by a horribly familiar fire. An entire neighborhood burned around what would become Fuyuki Central Park.

With his throat dry and his fists pressed, Archer faced Merlin, but the magician did not seem to notice his anger.

"You were not the only one to see his destiny sealed the day Artoria destroyed the Grail of Fuyuki. Because, unfortunately, even the light of Excalibur reinforced by two command seals has not been able to completely destroy the Lesser Grail... fragments have survived."

Merlin nodded slowly and the scene changed again. This time they were in a large room resembling an underground hypogeum. Loculi were built in the walls. They did not welcome coffins but something even more horrific... Each stone box offered a sickening swarm of huge insects... worms devouring magic constituting the _Crest Worm_ of the Matou. Wrapped in a swarm of lusts worms, Sakura was in the pit dug in the middle of the vast room. Merlin spoke again, pointing to the little girl who was staring at the ceiling with dead eyes:

"Thinking that the fragments of the Lesser Grail were a definite advantage, Zuken Matou implanted them in Sakura, in order to transform her into a second container of the Holy Grail that he could control. His calculations were greatly compromised by the fact that the Fifth Grail War began only ten after the Fourth, when his plans were not yet ready to bear fruit. However, Sakura is now linked to the Grail... and thus to Avenger."

"And that's why Shinji kidnapped Sakura?" asked Archer.

Merlin nodded:

"Exactly! There is no doubt that Angra Mainyu will do something to Sakura to exploit her connection to the Grail. While I was spying on them, I couldn't guess what... But it doesn't matter, their purpose is not difficult to guess. Avenger wants to return to life transformed into the Supreme God of Evil and Sakura could give him the opportunity.

As the dream dissipated and Archer awoke, Merlin's voice still came to him faintly:  
"You are the last person who can stop Avenger's resurrection."

(1) Lokhan "the drum of doom" (in old Aldmeri) is a deity that appears in all the religions of Tamriel. The Elves see in him a deceiver and a tempter who would have pushed the gods to create the world, imprisoning souls in matter. For humans, on the contrary, he would be the protector of humanity. The Nords revere him under the name of Shor, under which name he is integrated into the imperial pantheon... but not venerated. To the proponents of this theory, with mortality, souls would have been freed from eternal and aimless wandering and could now hope to attain divinity by leading a righteous life. This fundamental disagreement on the nature of Lorkhan reflects the succession of wars having opposed the Mers (elves) to the Men (humans). Without knowing whether the disagreement is the cause of these conflicts or the opposite.

(2) Once mortal, the Ehlnofeys were divided into two groups. Some settled where they were, others went to visit their new home. Less affected by their new world, but also less adapted to it, the sedentary became the Elves. The wanderers gave birth to the humans. The Khajiits (Nirn's cat-men) were created by the Mers. As for the Argonians, they are the only playable races in the games of the TES series to have no relation with the Ehlnofeys. They were created by the Hists an intelligent plant race that lived on Nirn before the arrival of the Earth Bones.

(3) The sword of the spring (in Persian). Rostam would make an excellent Rider class Servant, his horse Rackhch having participated in all his exploits and it was not an ordinary stalion since he managed to tear the shoulders of a dragon with a stroke of teeth! Rostam is also not a minor hero, although he is unknown in the West. The most famous literary work of medieval Persia, the _Shâh Nâmeh_ (or "Book of Kings") is a dedicated recitation of his epic legend.

(4) Japanese period corresponding to the reign of the emperor of Japan known in the West as Hiro Hito, which is 1929-1989.


End file.
